


The Escort

by audreyslove



Series: Escort Series [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-03-01 16:50:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 182,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13299090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreyslove/pseuds/audreyslove
Summary: Robin, a man still mourning the loss of his late wife, refuses to date. But he feels the need to feel close to another warm body, so he hires an escort. Unexpected warm feelings ensure during their meeting, and a connection is fostered that grows as fate crashes these two together in unexpected ways.  Modern AU.





	1. Chapter 1

He doesn't have to pay for it.

There are other options, sure. But they involve getting to know someone. Meeting, flirting, trying to develop a connection with someone. Even the most awkward of one-night stands has that little dance.

But that is a dance he had only tangoed with Marian. She was his high school crush. High school, when flirting was her in a too-short private school skirt wearing watermelon flavored lip balm and smelling like some fruity, innocent scent from one of those overpriced soap and perfume stores that Robin hated to walk past whenever he had the unfortunate occasion to enter the mall.

But on Marian it smelled lovely, tantalizing, even.

He had his first and last "first date" at 17, and as awkward and nervous as he was when he took Marian – finally alone – finally not in a group of friends – to a restaurant (it was Outback Steakhouse, he cringes to remember that). He wouldn't trade that moment for anything. He can still remember worrying about sweating through his shirt, nervous, unsure whether Marian even knew it was a date and not just a social gathering between friends like they had done for the last few months. He picked her up and she was more dressed up than usual, she wore a skirt, a straight beige skirt, not like the flirty cotton numbers that flared out that she used to wear to amusement parks and concerts. She had paired it with a cotton blouse, a simply, innocent number except she had undone some of the top buttons, he could see a hint of cleavage, and spent the majority of dinner wondering if she had undone them for him.

He remembers his first kiss with her – though it wasn't the first. There had been spin the bottle at the after party to Eli's Bah Mitzvah, and they had kissed then. There was truth or dare at Jamie's party the year before their date, where she was dared to kiss Robin and they kissed passionately amongst their applauding and whooping friends. But this was the first time their lips met where it actually meant something, after the steak dinner, when he walked her back to the car and held open her car door, and she had smiled, wrapped her arms around his neck, tilted her head and waited for him to close the gap between them.

His heart had been racing the whole date, waiting to see if there would be a moment like this, an opportunity to kiss her the way he wanted to, and when it was there, it nearly took his breath away. The moment between her arms around him and when he finally kissed her were etched into his memory.

They made out for the first time in the parking lot of an Outback Steakhouse and it was the most romantic, sensual experience of his life.

Marian left him four years ago, left him with beautiful memories of a damn near fairy tale relationship, left him with a beautiful five year old boy, but also left him utterly and completely opposed to finding anyone else to share his life with.

He found his soulmate at age 17. He wouldn't sully what they had by trying to find something new.

His friends still beg him to get back out there. _Try a few dates_ , the said, _you never know what may happen_. But anytime a friendly girl catches his eye, anytime a conversation with a waitress at a bar verges on flirtatious, he is hit with that memory of his first date with Marian, and loses all desire to continue the pathetic little dance with someone else.

He is done with romantic love. He has a son he loves very much, and memories that will last a lifetime. He doesn’t need anything more.

Unfortunately, however, he has needs. Urges, urges that sometimes aren't satisfied with his hand, urges that still aren't satisfied watching porn. He would need more, crave a warm body.

He had discovered the world of escorts a few years ago, but used the business sparingly. To say the least. He had only broke down and indulged twice in the four years since Marian's death, and the first time he hadn't even been able to touch the escort, put the money on the counter and left the room with an apology. The second time he met a very talented woman who had loosened him up. First she gave him a back rub that was much more satisfying than anything else, then she eventually took him in his mouth had him groaning and panting and coming, yet the tinge of guilt never truly went away the entire time.

There is guilt in using the service, sure, he hated to support the sex trade. (He tried to minimalize his contribution to any possible exploitation or coercion. He sought older escorts instead of young teenagers. He only dealt with independent escorts, avoiding the "agencies" that are really just pimps and madams working the girls far too hard. He tried to be a good John about it, as far as Johns go).

But there was also guilt, still, in cheating on Marian. Nothing feels right without her, but this especially feels so wrong. And he hates himself for wanting sex so badly. But it was truly Marian's fault. She had satisfied his veracious sexual appetite for decades. It was hard to just shut off, even as grief stricken as he is.

It had been 2 years since his last foray into the escort service, and he found himself wanting to give it another shot. He looked at various girls until he stumbled upon _her_ website.

Her website lacks the pop up ads or banner ads the other escorts had. Her body is beautiful, if the pictures are real. She doesn't have any pictures of her face on the website. Well, that's not exactly true. A picture of her entire body in profile shows a hint of her ear, hair tucked behind it.  It is a cute ear. There is a closeup of her lips, and though many escorts had such pictures, her picture looks sensual and inviting, not pornographic. He wants those lips.

For weeks he had just visited her website, looked at the pictures, contemplated scheduling an appointment, and resisting.

It is wrong to hire escorts. This woman may be miserable, having to please men all day.

But then one day she added another picture to the website. A picture that tipped him over the edge into entertaining this idea to actually contacting her for an appointment. In the picture she was in a bed, holding a sheet up to just under her eyes, hair disheveled looking mischievous and innocent and naughty all at the same time. Such expressions she held in her eyes- the eyes the only part of her face visible in the picture. She could probably make a career as a model, he thought. But perhaps the pictures had been photoshopped. Perhaps her nose was a mess. Something had to be off, she was too perfect.

He hasn't had much luck in quick, hourly sessions. So he requested a girlfriend experience half night, cocktails, dinner, and "dessert".

Then if he backs out, at least he will have had a nice meal.

She had been polite enough in email — at least, whoever may be answering was polite, and she is an independent, so it wasn't likely it someone else is answering her emails. She had suggested a nice restaurant downtown with a great bar. It is down the street from the hotel where she said she has a room, and they could retire there for dessert. It isn’t too expensive, but the food and drinks are wonderful, Robin had been there on a few occasions before. He had assumed she'd suggest a hotel restaurant or bar, and was somewhat glad to hear her make another suggestion.

He had arrived early, ordered a glass of whiskey to calm his nerves and prepare for what is to come. He contemplates another round of whiskey when he hears her voice and looks up.

"Robin?"

Wow.

Before their date, she had asked him how she wanted him to dress, a question that made him cringe. He had answered -- told her nothing overly flashy, to wear clothes she is comfortable in. But he had not been sure how an escort would dress for this place, and he had worried she might show up in something out of Pretty Women, thigh high boots and cut out dresses, and he'd be embarrassed and have to cut dinner short from the stares he imagined from everyone in the place, knowing he had hired a companion.

The people in the restaurant are staring at her, but not for the reasons he had feared.

She has impeccable taste. She is wearing a navy blue cocktail dress, simple, but the lines are clean, scoop down below to reveal a hint of cleavage, hangs tightly to every curve. The dress nearly reaches her knees, with a slight slit up the side.

It is the first time he sees her face. And she is beautiful. Breathtakingly so. He had wondered, before this, if she kept pictures of her face off for anonymity reasons or kept it off to hide some imperfection. Perhaps, he had speculated, there wasn't a beautiful face to match that beautiful body. But, no, she is beautiful, so beautiful that if her face was on her website she would be flooded with even more potential clients. She must have kept it off to protect her identity.

There's a pause after she says his name, where she's just smiling at him, and he feels his mouth might be open. He snaps into action a second later.

"Alexandra" he says, rising to greet her and calling her by her professional name, the name he knows is not truly hers, but is the only name he will ever know her as. She only tilts her head and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, sitting down before he can get her chair out for her. She looks shy, almost, not the demeanor of a professional, and it is adorable and sexy at the same time.

She stares at him from across the table as if she is drinking him in, and he suddenly feels the slightest bit self conscious.  He offers her a curious look, wordlessly asking what is wrong.

"Sorry," she breathes, "I was just thinking that you're just not my… usual demographic."

He tilts his head and asked _how so?_  and she frowns for a second, and explains, a bit hurried "Oh, my usual dates are just…"  she bites her lip, her right hand waving in the air, as if trying to grasp at words that have been swept away from her.  "Older. I guess."

"Ah," Robin nods.  But he's fully aware she had screened him before agreeing to meet him, and she is fully aware of his age, as well as his occupation. But perhaps it is different seeing him in person.

"Have you been here before?" She asks, picking up a menu.

"I have," he responds with a smile. "Usually business meetings during the week, I've yet to be here on the weekend."

He's suddenly nervous, realizing many colleagues from work know this place, and might frequent it. The last thing he'd want is to have to awkwardly introduce "Alexandra" to his boss, or his meddling coworkers who are always trying to fix him up on a date. He then takes a cursory glance around the restaurant. It's a dimly lit restaurant, covered in dark wood and soft lighting, and they are tucked away near a corner in the back, still, anyone on their way to the restroom may pass near them, and he frowns. He didn't think of the potential of running into someone.

She must notice his sudden anxiety, because she leans across the table, reaches to put her hand over his, and smiles. "It's ok. I doubt we run into anyone you know here. The weekend crowd is a bit different than the weekday crowd. But if we do, just introduce me as your date. I won't embarrass you, I promise. Everything will be fine."

He's nodding and apologizing, feeling stupid, like he cocked all this up by getting anxious and making it obvious that he is embarrassed to be with her. How would such a thought make her feel?

And then he remembers, he's paying her, he hasn't ruined the date, because this isn't a date.

"Best Manhattans in town." Alexandra murmurs, looking down at the drink list.

"They made a great old fashioned too." He notes.

"It's such a simple drink but so easily ruined by the wrong bartender." She agrees. "It's the brandy-soaked cherries, I'm convinced that's what makes it delicious."

He wonders how often she'd been to this particular restaurant, but then his mind wanders to how often she does  _this_  and no, he does not want to think about that.

He motions over the waiter, orders himself another drink, asks if she's interested in oysters, and she nods, so they start with that for an appetizer. She orders a manhattan with bulliet rye and he's surprised at her taste yet again.

"So, what part of England are you from originally? Your accent is lovely."

"Stratford, a lovely town just outside of London. Lovely town. I miss it."

"What brought you to the colonies?" she asks with a wink.

"My father's job brought us over here. I was fourteen."

"Moving to a different country as a teenager couldn't be easy."

"It was, at first, but I made friends easily."

She goes coy, letting her eyes dart obviously over his body.  And then she says, "Good looks and a charming British accent couldn't hurt." 

He thinks he might be blushing.

The conversation flows easily, and Robin finds she has visited the UK before, when she spent a semester abroad, studying at King's College. He tries not to act surprised at the fact she's college educated, tries not to wonder how she came to be an escort, when it appears she has so many other skills, such obvious intelligence.

"What did you study in college?" he asks

"Literature" Alexandra says with a roll of her eyes and a biter smile. "I had promise in the hard sciences, I did well. But when it came to picking a major, I decided to go with my heart."

"I respect that," he says sincerely, feeling the need to reassure her. "You only live once, and studying your passion is a far better use of your time than being miserable studying something you loathe."

"Mmm," she takes a small sip of the whiskey she's ordered and then says "not the most lucrative field, I'm afraid. And what was your major?" she looks up at him coyly swirling the glass of whiskey in her hand, biting that bottom lip, and dear god, she's gorgeous to a distraction. It's a good thing this isn't a real date, because if it had been, he would be far too nervous at this point, and far too worried over how much he already likes her. But it is a mask. This isn't real. None of it is.

The conversation flows easily, and it surprises him. She acts interested in his job, asking questions, laughing at his work stories. And he feels more comfortable with her, allowing himself to lose himself in the subtle, flirtatious looks she makes at him, the soft touches of her hand against his from across the table, allows his heart to flutter with anticipation just a bit, despite the fact that none of this is real, despite the fact that she is just doing her job.

This is the acting skill of a professional, paid to act like she cares, like she is enjoying talking with him. But it's easy to forget that when her eyes are so warm and sincere, and Robin tells himself he can try to forget that for just a little while. She's gorgeous, and those subtle looks, the way she bites her lip just so at the silences in their conversation (none of them awkward, oddly) – it has him riled up, has him telling that voice in the back of his head telling him this is nonsense, that it's not real – to just shut up and let him feel for now.

They are deciding on whether to get dessert, and it's nearly ten o'clock, when it happens.

A little boy of around five - far too young to be unsupervised, far too young to be at a restaurant at this hour, runs by their table, smacking into Robin's arm, an arm that is holding a very full glass of water. The boy falls down hard right next to their table and the water spills all over Robin's nice suit, drenching his shirt, his pants, and parts of his suit jacket and wonderful, that's just wonderful. Though to be honest, a splash of cold water on the crotch might be useful at this point. He needs to be dragged back to reality.

And now the boy is crying and it's the not the time to think about his ruined clothes.

The boy has torn a hole in his pants, his knee is skinned from coming into contact with the hard floor. He's hurt, sure, but the tears are probably more from being scared and tired than from any pain.

"Hey hey hey," Robin soothes while the boy manages to choke our an  _I'm sorry sir_ between sobs, "That was quite a fall. Let's get you a bandaid, huh?"

Alexandra is up and out of her seat immediately, hand gently rubbing the boys shoulder, looking at his skinned knee. "I-I need to use, use the b-b-bathroom." The boy is articulate between his sobs, and Robin realizes he must have been running to beat the urgency in his bladder.

Alexandra looks up at him as if to plea for him to take the boy, but she need not ask, he was going to do it anyway. "Let's get you to that bathroom now ok?"

The boy is still sobbing and nodded his head. "I-I cou-cou-ldn't wait any longer," he breathes eager to run along to the bathroom. "it's an emer-…emergency"

Robin walks him quickly to the bathroom, the boy is limping just a bit, but clearly focusing on not peeing his pants, he makes quick work and runs to the toilet while Robin waits outside the door.

He had expected the boy's father to be right behind them. But no one comes.

While the boy is otherwise occupied he takes a moment to assess the damage the spilled water had done to his suit. He is wearing a navy suit, and the spilled water shows, not terribly, but enough. He is lucky he had decided against his light gray suit, the water stain would have been an awful contrast.

The water had pooled in his lap, and did look a bit like he peed his pants, his shirt and coat had enough wetness however, to make it seem like a spill instead of an incontinence issue. Robin grimaces. He uses a paper towel to soak up some of the excess liquid still dripping from his clothes. It does little to alleviate the wet stain on his clothes. He turned on the hands dryer and attempts to dry his soaked clothes, angling his body awkwardly beneath it. It is useless. The warm air, it turns out, also does little to dry the damp fabric. He's still trying to fix things when the boy steps out from the stall, tears still staining his cheeks.

Robin smiles, his fruitless efforts to fix his clothes forgotten. "It looks like you can use a bandage," he says as the boy gingerly walked to the sink. "And some ice, yeah?"

He leads him back out of the bathroom then, meeting a waiter just outside the restroom, who is incredibly apologetic, offering dry cleaning (unnecessary) and a comped dessert for the boy's trouble. Silly, that. It hadn't been the restaurant's fault.

Robin asks for a bandage and some ice for the boy, and the waiter nods and tells him his date has already requested those items. He turns to her then, catches her eye, and she looks….soft. Sweet. When they reach the table, she leans down to the boy immediately, asks if he's okay as she cleans the wound with a clean, wet dish towel and puts a bandage on the small cut.

"Hey, I'm Regina," she says to the boy after looking around for his father, who has yet to appear. What's your name?"

It is a slip. She had just accidentally revealed her name in front of Robin, but he will not let her know he heard it.  Her name suits her, though – she looks like a Regina.  So regal and poised.

"Ben" the boy says softly. Robin smiles. He had forgotten to ask the boy his name in all the chaos.

"Ben, where's your daddy?" She asks him softly. 

The boy points to a table in the front, and there are several men dining. They haven't seen what has happened, and whomeveris the father doesn't even seem to be looking for his son.

"Daddy has an important meeting," Ben explains quietly, "I am supposed to be on my best behavior."

Alexandra – no, Regina, it is Regina now, Regina's voice is unwavering "Well I think you very much were on your best behavior. It was just an accident."

Ben shakes his head. "Daddy will be mad." He insists in a fearful whisper.

Robin feels his heart clench, feels himself worrying for this boy more than he should.  "No, no, he won't be mad," Robin assures the boy,  "we'll go over there together, ok?"

They walk Ben back to the table, then, Regina accompanies Robin without such a word. God, he's fucked up this date.  He should just pawn the boy off on a waiter, but he can't. He's a father, and the boy is so upset, he can't let him go.

"Which one is your daddy?" Regina whispers as they approach the table. Ben points to a slick looking man with his back to them, from the sound of the nonsense he is spewing, a real pompous jerk.

Robin taps his shoulder, interrupting whatever nonsense story this idiot is telling, and the guy spins around, clearly annoyed.

"I believe I have something that belongs to you," Robin drawls, his voice icy and angry.

The man looks at Robin, up and down, noticing the spilled liquid on his suit, then looks down at Ben almost in… what looks like disgust but can't be disgust can it?

"Ben, what did you do now?" The man turns to Robin, a deep regretful scowl covering his face. "I'm sorry my son is so ill-behaved. His mother raised him, she spoils him."

Ben mutters an apology. The rest of his father's table goes silent.

Robin is furious, and can no longer keep himself from speaking his mind.  "The boy fell going to the restroom, probably overtired. He did nothing wrong. There was no harm done to me except for a little spill, but he is hurt. He's a great kid with exemplary manners, and could deserve some more care and attention. I waited for his mum or dad to come over and help him when he fell, but it seems you were too distracted to even notice him."  He's seething now, frustrated and ready for a fight.  

Ben's father rolls his eyes while Ben practically hides behind Robin. "Look, buddy, I had a business meeting last minute and his mom wouldn't take him back last minute. I'll pay for your dry cleaning." He addresses Regina, "Seriously, I'm sorry my son ruined your date."

"Your son did nothing of the sort, and is a wonderful little boy. It was delightful meeting him." Regina's posture shifts, her body goes stiff, as if she is physically holding herself back. "You, on the other hand, were an absolute nightmare to meet. You don't deserve such a wonderful little boy." She adds curtly, walking away as Ben's son mutters something about Robin controlling his woman, but Robin decides he should probably avoid having brawl in the restaurant. So he walks away from the table, feeling pride that he is with a woman so bold, so protective of children.

He is proud of being with _her_ despite the fact that on paper, he should be embarrassed and ashamed to be with a hired escort.

When he walks back to his table, Regina reaches out and squeezes his hand. "You're wonderful with children," she breathes, as if she is relieved. "That poor boy, it makes me so mad…" she trails off. She looks at Robin with renewed interest, what can almost be seen as admiration. "Do you have children?" she asks softly.

Robin nods his head. "Roland, he's my whole world. He's nearly five." He is reaching for his phone to show her pictures before he can tell himself she really doesn't care about his life, or his child. She just seems so sincerely interested.

She looks at the pictures, _aww_ -ing and asking questions about first day of kindergarten, about his interests. He speaks of being a single dad (doesn't mention Marian is dead, not yet) and one thing is clear, this woman he's speaking to has the heart of a mother. And appears to understand being a single parent quite well, too well to not be one herself..

Before he thinks better of it, he asks if she's a mother as well, and she pulls out her phone as if on instinct, "My little one, he is it eight." She says with a watery smile, turning her phone to Robin, offering him to look through her pictures. "He's my whole world too."

"He's absolutely adorable." Robin gushes, peering at a picture on her phone. He laughs when he scrolls and sees a picture of her son making pancakes, completely covered in pancake batter and odd blue stains he bets were made from blueberries. "And is the little lad a chef?"

She giggles, telling him of Henry's interest in cooking, how pleased she is that he's never considered it women's work, and she has the pride and love of a mother in her eyes, in her voice, and Robin can't resist interrupting her at a certain point as she gushes.

"God, you're so beautiful."

The words are out of his mouth before he can think otherwise. She looks like she truly blushes at that, but it must be the lighting.

"Thank you," she says weakly, looking down to her meal.

She won't meet his gaze, and he can't read her. He worries he's made her feel uncomfortable.

"Sorry," Robin says, guilt returning to him, bringing him back to the reality of this date. "If overstepped, or made you uncomfortable, I didn't mean to…"

Regina smiles, an amused little thing. "You don't do this often, it seems." When Robin gives her an inquisitive look she explains. "Go on _dates,_ " she emphasizes the word, so he knows what she means.

Robin laughs, "No, no, it's been about two years since I had a date of any kind. And years since my marriage to Roland's mother, that would be my last, uh, 'other' type of date."

Her eyes widen. "Two years? My god, you cannot be serious."

He chuckles. "I have to admit I have very little interest in relationships of any sort since Roland's mum.  Plus I'm a single dad, and that keeps me very busy."

She smiles and nods knowingly. "Yes, being a single parent makes any sort of dating life difficult. I haven't had… anything real, really, since uh, my... ex husband." She's a bit quieter when she says, "not because it was true love or I miss him. Just because… life, you know?"

"I do. " Robin sees her withdraw. She looks like she's relieving an absolutely painful memory, like she's stuck in some terrible moment of her past, and he wants to fix that face, wants to make her feel better. He takes his hand and squeezes her, and she looks down at their hands. Then her demeanor shifts, visibly. She looks uncomfortable. He looks down at their joined hands. Her fingers trace his wedding ring. When she looks back up at him, her eyes look empty, detached.

"So what are you interested in for _dessert?_ " she ask, and oh, the mask is back up and she's all business now. He looks down at his hand, realizing why. She thinks he's lied about his relationship status, and plenty of married men see escorts, but he's not that person, and he suddenly finds it important that she know that.

"It's not what you think," he insists, pointing to his ring.

"None of my business" she reminds, waving a hand. "Now, like I said —“

Robin interrupts, almost desperately, determined to change the poor image she must have of him – of someone not only cheating on his wife, but trying to lie about it to seem like what? Some sort of noble John? It's utterly pathetic, and he can't have her thinking he's that terrible.

"My wife gave this to me on our wedding day and told me to always think of her when I looked down at it. I couldn't bear to take it off. She died almost four years ago, and it's the one thing that gives me comfort. That's why it's been so long since a real relationship - I found my love in life. I'm grateful for the time we had. No need to replace that with anyone else."

Regina examines him, her eyes turn skeptical, as if she's evaluating whether he's lying or not, but then she's suddenly softer, "I'm sorry, I didn't realize." She squeezes his hand, and the touch is comforting. "It makes sense though, explains why you're doing this I mean, you're…." she's blushing again, and she extracts her hand from his for a second. "you're very….attractive."

He chuckles. Well that was unexpected.

"I mean, you're a catch. And I do mean that, truly. You sound like a loving father, conversation is easy with you. So I wonder why you're, you know, why you're with me." She sounds a bit self-loathing at that point, and Robin wants to tell her she deserves better than this life, too, but he can't find the words. Instead, he tells her why he's with her, why he pays for sex.

He nods. "I still love my wife. I compare everyone to her. I have no need for a relationship, and anyway, the first few dates would probably be a screening process to see if they are good enough for Roland."

"And no one will be good enough for him," she adds, making Robin smile.

"Yes. So, I have no need to find anyone again. But sometimes, very rarely, I just…I miss..." There's no way to say this without sounding like a shallow asshole. Sometimes he just really, really, wants to be with a woman.

Regina nodded "You get a little…lonely." She's softly whispering that, like she knows "lonely" is code for something else, code for "horny", probably, but she's too polite to tell him she knows this evening is about scratching an itch, about getting out his need for physical love with a woman.

"Yes," Robin smirks, as if he’s been caught. But part of him knows it's more than that, it's why he wanted to take her to dinner, why he reserved the whole evening. He wants a release, sure, but he also wants to feel close to a woman, to hold a warm body against him and pretend he is connected to someone, fantasize that he can move on, if only for an hour or two.

"I'm afraid I put a damper on what was a nice evening. We should find an easier topic of conversation," he offers.

She shakes her head. "You did nothing of the sort. You've only added to my enjoyment of this evening." She looks at him, smiling, "Truly, Robin, I do mean that."

And he's paying her to act like she likes him, but he still believes it, believes her.

"Compliments of the house!" Robin jumps as the waiter comes from behind them with a bottle of champagne and a wink. "Your assistance with that little boy was much appreciated." He pours a glass of champagne offering it to Robin before whispering, "And your words to Mr. Cabot were much appreciate by the staff. We've watched him abuse others and abuse that poor kid of his for too long."

.::.

There's a bottle of champagne to drink now, and she's already had her limit on alcoholic drinks on nights where she is working.

Robin seems safe, her gut tells her he's safe, and it's been a long, long time since her gut has been wrong. She takes a glass of champagne, listens to Robin as he tells her a story about himself and Marian in high school, watches as his eyes light up as he speaks of his late wife and briefly wonders why fate had made it so that no man's eyes would ever light up that way when they speak of her. But then she's through pitying herself and focuses on the man across the table from her again.

Robin seems like a good man. He had cared enough about that boy to make her heart flutter, realizing he's probably a good father. When he told the story of his wife and the ring he still wore, she should have been suspicious, so many of her clients insist on making up stories of cheating spouses, dead spouses, divorces that never happened…anything to make them sound more appealing and interesting to her. But she has never cared about who they really are.

With Robin, it is different. The story sounded real. His love for his wife sounds real. And god, he is good with children. He's a good person, her instincts scream that. And she wants to believe it.

There's another thing about Robin that strikes her. He's an attractive man. A very attractive man. If she's being honest, he's _hot,_ exactly her type in the looks department. It's been a long time since she's had anyone this good looking between the sheets.

Well, she's had some very good looking clients before, and they are almost always the clients who are narcissistic assholes with delusions of grandeur. But attractive men who are also kind and can carry on a decent conversation? These men are not typical clients of escorts. Still, it is her job to listen to them, to act like she believed them, to comfort them, despite what terrible people they may be.

Her clients like to talk, share their fears, frustrations, sure, but they also lie, they build a fantasy life with her, tell her what good men they are, how powerful they are, tell her stories of the women in their life and what brought them to a prostitute's embrace (in so many words), and the stories always paint the women as vile monsters, but Regina knows better.

Her own exhusband frequented whores, and as little as she thinks of herself, Regina doesn't blame herself for his ability to be monogamous.

She's paid for sex, but a part of her job has always been a type of therapy for her clients. So when they complain about their monstrous wives who refuse them sex or will only do vanilla sex, when they complain over their post-partum bodies or constant nagging, she is always sympathetic, pretends to believe them and feel sorry for them. Indulges in their pretend superiority over others, in the fantasy they have created of themselves and their own life. It's her job, and sometimes, that part of her job makes her feel dirtier than the most kinky types of sex.

But her job today, it seems, is to share a lovely meal with a nice man, a man who touches her hand softly, searches her eyes for permission to do so, steals glances at her cleavage from across the table like a shy teenager, a man who took a sweeping glance at her backside when they walked away from that poor child's table, and then pretended to be looking at something on the floor.

A man who treats her as if she is on an actual date. And it thrills her. Makes her want to believe it's a real date too. It's an easy part to play, because he is the type of man she'd actually want to date.

Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves. They are going to go back to the hotel room and fuck, and although he didn't tell her of any "special requests" in the bedroom, she may still find out he's into something terribly kinky. She may find out he can't get it up, or there's something else, horribly wrong. Let's not build him up too much, too soon. Something had to be wrong with him.

"Alexandra?" Robin calls from across the table. The name grounds her, reminds her he doesn't know her real name, and she's likely to never see or hear from him again after a few hours, not unless she can convince him to see her more regularly. She looks at him, in a daze. "Sorry, what did you say?"

He tilts his head, lips curving up playfully.  "I just asked if you wanted dessert to go with this champagne?"

She shakes her head. "No, I'm enjoying this just fine on its own." She raises her champagne flute in a small toast, and then sips. She revels in how he is drawn to her lips in that moment. She notices his stare, as she swallows her champagne and his eyes follow the drink down… eyes focused on her hint of cleavage and staying there for a bit too long. She raises her eyebrow playfully, making it clear she saw where his attentions had gone.

"Sorry," he breathes, "I… I must look like I'm trying to devour you. You're so beautiful. And…" he shrugs, "Well, as you know, it's been a long time."

 "Nothing to apologize for," she says as she takes another sip of champagne. She offers her hand to him, threading her fingers through his. She grazes her leg against his under the table, getting a little thrill out of the shiver it gives Robin.

She likes him. She _wants_ to satisfy him, to bring him pleasure. Not just because it's her job, but because he's a kind man who is in pain and he deserves it.

"So…" she says, "It's been two years…" Robin cringes and mutters _I can't believe I told you that_ but Regina ignores his embarrassment, moving on, "what do you miss the most?"

She braces herself for him to answer with whatever sexual kink he's missed the most. Is he going to say he misses blow jobs, anal, golden showers? No, he won't, she decides. He's a gentleman. Even if he does miss one of those things the most he won't say it to her over a dinner. He hired an escort but he's treated her like a lady the whole night.

Robin groans. "It's everything. Being close to someone. Feeling another person against you, skin to skin. It's…I just miss the physical contact of someone who is more. Even this," he lifted their held hands for a second, "is more than I've had in two years, and even this is wonderful and satisfying to me in its own way." He sighs, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. "I sound utterly pathetic, I know."

Regina laughs at that, because he's being ridiculous, but her laugh is misinterpreted and Robin looks at her with shame in his eyes.  So she rushes to assure him.

"Robin, you sound like a wonderful, devoted man. You're a breath of fresh air. There's nothing pathetic about you." She squeezes his hand, and he looks as if he can use an ego boost, so she adds, "and you're far too hot to have a self-image problem, so stop it already."

He chuckles, blushes, and it's _cute_ , and then he's asking her about her childhood, where she's from, and she goes on to explain her life in Maine.

"I was a bit of a tomboy when I was younger, it just about killed my mother. She dreamed of a daughter with frilly dresses playing makeup, and all I wanted to do was play in the mud. One day I had been out fishing – really, we ended up just catching crayfish in a little creek on the way back, and she looked at me and said 'I hate fishing. It's a dirty, disgusting hobby.' But my dad was always supportive, he said 'Regina, if your mother hates fishing, then she can feel free not to join you when you go fish.' ."

He's looking at her almost too amused, and surprised. She gives him a confused glance while she thinks back over her conversation, trying to find what offended him and _oh_!

_Shit._

She gave out her real name.

He is so comfortable and easy and nice that she had let herself forget, for a moment, that she is on a _date._

"Regina," he says softly and she looks up, wincing, and nods.

"Never made that mistake before," she says, looking down a bit. "I uh,…"

"It's a lovely name." He says, almost assuring her. "it suits you."

She can't hide the worry in her face.

"I won't use it," he offers, "I mean, I'll still call you Alexandra if you prefer. You slipped up before, when you spoke to Ben. I figured you didn't want me to use your real name then, I won't do it again."

"I don't know how that happened," she chuckles, her fingers playing with the champagne flute. "I guess I just felt so comfortable that I forgot for a moment."

Robin looks genuinely touched. "I'm glad I was able to make you feel comfortable, _Alexandra_." He says, and his smile is sincere and bright, and she loves it. And part of her wishes this was a real date. She pushes that part down. As wonderful as he may be he still is a man who hires people like her. Still, he knows her name now and he knows quite a bit about her, and so she can go a little off-book with this.

"I prefer 'Regina'" she responds, and he looks grateful, happy even, to hear it. She squeezes his hand, the hand she's still holding. He draws out a little sigh, and now it's him subtly touching his leg to her leg under the table, and she closes her eyes for a moment when his leg grazes hers and enjoys the tingly sensation of the innocent touch.

.::.

When they leave the restaurant and walk back to the hotel he's decided it for sure. He's not going to sleep with her. He's already given her the money they'd agreed on for her time, slipping the envelope into her purse per her instructions, without so much as a word about it.

He had enjoyed himself. She seems to be enjoying herself too. And he had meant what he said, holding her hand, stroking her arm, the childish game of footsie he had played with her – that is satisfying in its own right. He really did miss _this_ more than sex anyway. He can go back to his normal life and dream of this Regina, dream of a scenario in which they have a great date like this, have actual chemistry (it feels like they have chemistry, but she is a very good escort, and she is paid to manufacturer these feelings), have equal desires to retire to the privacy of one of their homes and kiss and touch and fuck.

He will walk her back to her hotel room, and he will thank her for making him feel more alive than he had in four years, and then he will say goodbye. Tell her the evening meant very much to him, and he'd go home and keep the rest of his evening to his fantasies, maybe rub one off to the thought of her, but he wouldn't fuck her.

All those chivalrous thoughts leave his mind when she kisses him.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Her hotel room is a short walk from the restaurant, and it's only when she's left the restaurant, exposed to the slight chill of the early spring evening that Regina realizes that she's tipsy. She had a cocktail, she had wine with dinner, and nearly half a bottle of champagne for dessert. There are some in her occupation who can barely meet clients sober, but she's never been that type. She prefers to keep her guard up, her mind to be free of any potential disability, just in case. That's why they are walking to her hotel room- the cost built into her price. She's going to be in control of the room, isn't going to walk into another person's room unaware of who may come in, or what may be hidden in it. She's careful. Usually.

But she had let her guard down with this man, the man who defended the child who reminded her so much of Henry at that age, against a father that reminded her so much of her mother.

He got her to break the rules – rules that she had imposed upon herself for her own protection. She shared herself with him – one date, and he not only knew she had a son, but what that son looked like. He knew her real name (just her first name, she reminds herself, it's not that bad). She found herself liking him, caring about him. She finds herself hoping and thinking that he cares and actually likes her. None of it was good business. Not for this area of business anyway.

But her gut says she can trust him, and her gut is almost always right. So she concentrates on maneuvering down the broken pavement of the sidewalk in her heels without stumbling or slipping, and pushes the guilt and that knowing voice telling her she's getting herself into something that is bound to hurt her out of her mind.

All in all, the walk to the hotel isn't particularly awkward, as it sometimes is in this process, when the inevitability of sex is on the mind. Normally her mind would be racing at this point. How would it start? Would she be expected to make the first move? What would it be like? She was a professional, this was far, far from her first time, yet she still normally gets nervous at this point in the evening.

But there were none of those types of nerves tonight for her, though she thinks she can feel the nerves on him in the way he tenses up a bit, withdraws ever so slightly, and she wants to make him feel more comfortable. She wraps an arm around his waist (it helps to steady herself as she walks), pushes her body against his side as they walk, soaking up his warmth in the cool evening. He leans down and smiles her, wrapping his own arm around her, hands touching her gently, his hand moving up and down her far arm, as if to warm her up.

There aren't many people on the street, and they are on the far side of the sidewalk, tucked right against the buildings they pass. And she looks up at him, staring into his eyes, and closes the distance between their lips.

It's a pretty nice kiss – especially considering it's been at least two years since he's kissed someone like that. He's firm, confident, but his lips are soft, and his arms wrap around her, and he walks her back, moving her subtly against the side of the building as he slowly moves his lips to kiss her top lip, then to gently kiss her bottom lip, finishing the rather innocent kisses when he moves to rest his forehead against hers.

They don't say anything for a beat or two, she lets herself just breathe heavy against his skin (and his breath is haggard and startled next to hers) and then his hand is on her cheek, he's whispering _God…_  and she's kissing him again. She deepens it, this time, opens her mouth to taste him, to let their tongues meet, and the movements are slow and unhurried at first. Two tongues, just meeting each other, lightly, softly.

She moans into the kiss. She doesn’t know if the moan was real or not. She can't deny that it felt nice.

And her moaning must have spurred something on, because he's kissing her harder now, and she hooks her ankle behind his calf and pushes him closer to her, against the wall of the office building behind her. He tightens the grip around her waist, the hand around her neck moves to slide through her hair to send shivers down her spine. And she finds herself fisting his jacket with one of her hands, pulling him impossibly closer.

He pulls back only far enough to kiss her cheek, and then to press kisses down her neck, and it's tingly and warm and _good._

"God you feel amazing," he says into the crook of her neck, she hums and responds S _o do you_ in a throaty voice she barely recognizes.

He pushes against her a little more, and he's aroused, definitely turned on by this little makeout session, and that actually pleases her – that he's aroused so quickly, of course (not that he's aroused at all, he's a client, she shouldn't _want_ this – if he's aroused quickly it just means her job is easier). But then again, she's not completely unaffected either, and, truly, that's not much like her when she's with clients.

"Robin?" she asks, as he turns his attentions to the skin just under the clavicle. It's nice, but they are at the risk of causing a scene, and given her occupation, she can't draw this type of attention. And she can tell he's excited, a bit wrapped up in the moment, and if she isn't careful, he's going to get a hand up her dress soon right in the middle of this street. If she isn't careful, she's going to let him.

"Mm?" he answers between kisses.

"Take me to bed." She breathes into his ear, nipping it lightly. It's…maybe a bit intimate, and unnecessary of a request given their situation, but he requested a girlfriend experience, after  all.

She is well aware of what he wants, through their email exchange. He wants her to act like she is enjoying herself, he wants to please her, or try to please her. He wants to simulate an actual relationship. Many of her clients want that, her price point usually begs a more intimate time than your average escort experience. So saying this, responding this way, it's all just part of the act.

She ignores the voice in her head for maybe the thousandth time tonight that tells her she is lying to herself, and that there's more to this.

Robin pulls his lips from her skin, grabs her hand and kisses it, before walking her to the hotel. It's a nice hotel, and she's already checked in. She's here every now and then, on her working nights and she can't afford to look suspicious. So when she enters the nice lobby she pulls away from him just a bit, walks toward the elevator and presses the button, smiling at him, relieved he seems to understand that now is not the time to kiss and caress and fondle each other, no matter how much they – no, he, wants to. Now is the time to look like a happy couple just on their way to bed.

As soon as the elevator comes she jumps in and presses the button for the 12th floor. As soon as the doors close, Robin's lips are on her. She didn't quite expect it, but she likes it, it's a more urgent kiss than before, and she sinks into it.

"Fuck," he whimpers into the kiss, and she's nodding in agreement, because yes, this is unexpectedly good. And she's had it with the voice in her head. She's going to enjoy it.

She can have mechanical, miserable sex another time. She can enjoy this for now, it's what he requested her to do anyway. She can enjoy the kisses and touches of a man shes' actually attracted to, of whose company she actually enjoys.

As soon as she opens the door to her hotel room she fists his jacket and pulls him inside, kissing him hard at the same time she's taking the jacket off of him. He seems a little taken back at first, but he responds immediately, hands searching to find the zipper of her dress as her hands now move to undoing his tie.

 

.::.

 

She's a fucking dream. Beautiful, smart, a loving mother, and now she feels real and soft and willing in his arms, and he hasn't felt like this since Marian and he sure as hell isn't going to end this now.

They're making out like teenagers while they undress each other hurriedly – or rather she undresses him. He still hasn't the courage to undo the zipper to her dress himself. He wants to savor that moment a bit, watch the dress peel back and reveal more of her beautiful body, but he's too distracted now, because her tiny, soft hands are undoing his belt, lightly grazing over to where he's already rock hard and it's such a tease, so hot, makes his blood boil in anticipation.

She's unbuckled and unzipped and unbuttoned his pants, and her hand slides down to grab his erection. He can't help it, he groans, it's been a long time since he's been touched, and it's almost a therapeutic feeling this time.

Her strokes become firmer, until he has to grab her hand and stop her. He wants this to last as long as possible and at a certain point he won't want to slow down and he'll regret that immediately when it's over. So he grabs her hand, with a smile, stilling her movements and pulls down the zipper in her dress, peeling back the fabric slowly.

She is beautiful. Slender, but curvy in the right places, her breasts are bigger than he had thought, beautiful swells in a navy blue bra and matching lace panties, and he takes a moment to pull back and just look at her, admire her beauty. When his eyes meet hers, she shakes her head slightly, her eyes focusing on the floor below her. He cups her chin, then, drawing her face up so she can meet her gaze.

"You're gorgeous" he says to her in earnest, "do you even know how…" He doesn't finish the sentence. It's clear she doesn't know how gorgeous she is, how perfect her body is, and it's clear that his words aren't going to convince her of it. So he kisses her again, his hand moves to the swells of her breast without him even consciously leading them there.

"Is this ok?" he asks, breaking the kiss just a bit, his hand firmly on her breast. He doesn't have to ask but he wants to, and the way she hisses _yesss_ in response is worth it. He touches her nipples over the bra, fingers strumming over her nipples until they are hard and pointed, and she breaks their kiss to gasp a bit as she reaches to finish undressing him.

 

.::.

 

He feels good. He feels very good.

 

Her bra is off – he had fumbled with the clasp a bit, muttering an _it's been awhile_  and she had waved it off, determined not to let him be embarrassed about it. Now his hands are drawn back to her now-free breasts, and his fingers trace her curves lightly, from her shoulders down her sides, over her breasts, and finally swirling lightly around her nipples. It's a tender moment, too tender given the circumstances, but she doesn't mind at all, the light touches are teasing, making her actually throb with anticipation and need for the first time in she doesn't know how long.

His thumb and index finger is on a nipple and he looks up at her, asking permission again, always checking with her, and she nods as he pinches a nipple and she breaks into another gasp, and she's not touching him but he moans in response to her, ducking down somewhat awkwardly to kiss and suck the nipple that's not in his hand, and the way his tongue moves against her nipple is doing something to her, making her feel a straight jolt of pleasure right down to where she's already wet.

She is probably going to come tonight, she realizes that now.

When she first entered into this world, not too long ago, Mal had offered her advice, let her know how to run her business in a way that was safe (had begged her to work with an agency where she would be protected, have an actual paycheck, would only entertain the absurdly wealthy, the politically connected – but she wouldn't let someone else control her, let someone else screen the clients, let an agency tell her she couldn't work her day job anymore...and besides she was done pleasing the over-entitled wealthy anyway). Mal told her this happens every now and then, feeling good during a session. And she said to not look a gift horse in the mouth. Don't over-analyze, worry about what type of person it makes you to get off during a session with a client. They usually want you to orgasm anyway, so if the occasion should arise where you might not have to fake it, and what could be better?

But Mal has so many more warnings, and words of advice. So many more rules for interactions with clients and she had broken many of them tonight.

 _It's not time to think about that now._  She reminds herself, pushing every fear out of her mind, favoring her instincts instead, her instincts that say this man is okay. He's not dangerous, he won't hurt her.

He's walking her back to the bed, when her knees hit the back of it, she sits down, pulls down his pants and boxers, and he toes them off right at the foot of the bed, and then she's reaching for him, she grabs his neck and pulls him down on top of her as she lays down on the bed, his elbows bracing himself on either side of her head, his mouth on her.

"Jesus Regina" he moans. _Her name._ It's been….years since she's heard her name in this context, and she didn't think she'd like to hear it anymore, considering that her ex-husband used her name all the time and that was the opposite of a tender romance, sex with him was forceful and rough and sometimes against her will. Also considering that usually during these sessions she likes to disassociate herself from what she's doing, what she's become.

But the way Robin says her name, it sounds like a plea, it's gentle and sweet and nothing like her past romances, and nothing like the more degrading of her client sessions.

And so it doesn't pull her out of the moment, instead hearing her name excites her, turns her on even more, has her becoming slightly aggressive as she deepens their kiss and rocks her hips against his erection, reveling in the pleasure the friction creates.

He moves one hand down to the waist of her underwear, breaking the kiss to look in her eyes, again searching for her permission.

"Take it off!" she orders it's a frustrated, breathless order but an order nonetheless and he complies willingly with it, getting up for a moment to pull the underwear off her body, slowly, it's sweet, but frustrating, the feeling of the fabric working its way down her legs creates all sorts of sensations and the anticipation is just as sweet. He settles himself between her thighs then, his eyes focused on her body.

He sweeps his fingers across her sex lightly with a groan. "Regina…so so wet.” She looks down at him and nods, muttering _you made me this way._ He continues to touch her gently, light touches up her inner thigh, gentle, open mouth kisses around her sex, nearly where she wants him, and it works her up more, has her practically dripping, until she's panting and crying out.

"Robin, please!" she says, and she's never asked for it, never begged a client to fuck her or finger her or eat her out, but the second she asks for it his fingers move their way inside her, and she's not even touching him but his breathing is already erratic, he's already moaning, and she smiles, because he's one of those, one of those who gets pleasure from giving pleasure. And that's lucky for her, because she's willingly chasing her orgasm now, which would be entirely unprofessional if he didn't seem to enjoy her doing so.

"I need to taste you," he says, like a plea, and she's nodding, yes, that's fine. He sweeps a tongue between her folds, lapping up the wetness that's dripping from her, exploring every inch of her with his tongue, every inch but the place where she really needs him, and he knows it.

Her hips start rocking against his mouth as she tries to direct him to where she wants him (she is being legitimately needy, which is entirely wrong, and she should stop) but all he does is steady her hips with one of his hands, he uses the other to swipe across her clit, causing her hips to buck and him to chuckle, a puff of air hitting her clit again.

"Robin!"

"Mmhm?" His mouth is still on her, he's still teasing her with his tongue, planting gentle little sucking kisses right above and below where she needs him.

"You—you… su— _uurree—_ " he plants a firm lick to her clit before moving from it again and it makes her lose her thought, makes her buck and she feels like she's melting into the moment "sure it's – oh god that's good – it's been two years?"

He's circling her clit with his tongue now, and she regrets even trying to form a coherent sentence, because he had to stop temporarily to look up at her smugly. "It hasn't been two years since I've done this" he says, looking at her in the eyes.

Oh. So okay, by two years he meant intercourse, not random other hookups, that makes more sense…

"It's been four years since I've done this" he says, before returning his attention to her clit again, firmer, strong licks.

She would almost laugh at the absurdity of this man being celibate for so long, but she's too far gone to focus much on the conversation.

She remembers that this is about him, and so while she won't come, not without his fingers back inside her, not without a firmer touch to her clit, it's nice, better than she usually gets, so she soaks in the feeling for a bit, reminding herself this night is not about her own orgasm.

And then he stops, looks up at her and waits for her to meet his eyes.

"Tell me what to do," he almost growls "I want to make you scream, tell me what you need to come."

Well, he's the boss tonight.

"I need your fingers…ba-back inside me" she pants, as he continues to lick her and drive her crazy and he slips two fingers into her, they go in so easily and she realizes she is turned on to an almost criminal degree, but at this point she can't bring herself to care.

The pace of his fingers starts slow, and he asks tenderly "faster?" and she's nodding frantically. He adds a third finger and it's unexpected white hot pleasure, has her moaning _yes, that's good, so good_

He shifts the angle to where it's just right, and she loses her thought, starts babbling incoherent thoughts, _yesdontstopkeepgoing god please, harder, lick harder on my clit, mm I need you to, I need you to suck hard on..._

And she comes, hard, when his lips suck her swollen, aching clit, tongue sliding firmly against it, and his fingers moving expertly in and out of her as she clenches around his fingers, feels no guilt in riding the orgasm out for as long as she can, panting and crying out as she does, until it's too sensitive and she has to push him away.

She's still recovering a bit, still feeling too weak limbed to jump into the act of pleasing him – the way she usually would in these scenarios, but he doesn't know that, he lays down next to her.

He doesn't have a smug look on his face like she's expected, he looks almost…affectionate. More grateful than proud of himself (and he should be, frankly). He stares into her eyes for a second and then he's pulling her in for a kiss. He's a good kisser. It's almost a shame he's wasting his life not kissing people anymore.

She tastes herself on him, feels the lingering wetness of her orgasm on his lips and tongue mixing with his own taste, and loses herself for a second thinking of how wonderful _this_ is going.

She shifts her hand down between them until she can grasp is cock and she only gives it a stroke or two before he breaks the kiss, gasping and looking far too gone at this point to take the lead.

He full well knows the rules, what he's allowed to do, but he's still judging her comfort zone and considering her needs. So he lets her hands move soft and steady against him, a bit sloppy, before he gently grasps her wrists and moves it, silencing her question with a kiss.

"I want to be inside you," he says soothingly, searching her eyes for the permission he yet again doesn't need. Ordinarily she'd have made a quick trip to the bathroom before this (before their first encounter too), to lubricate herself, ensure she was ready, but sometimes – rare times, but _sometimes_ , she doesn't need it, and this is definitely one of those times. She nods, and before she can remind him or reach to give him a condom he's leaning over to take one out of the wallet he had dropped on the bed and puts it on.

She lays on her back, her legs slightly parted, and he kneels between her legs, condom on, and she readies herself for him to thrust in.

But he doesn't, his hands are stroking up and down her inner thighs, softly, and goosebumps appear on her skin, giving away her enjoyment of the action. He touches her sex with grave care, he's soft, and she arches into his touch.

He dips a finger back into her, hisses a bit, and then bends over her, one hand propping himself over her and the other on his cock, guiding himself into her.

_God!_

_This is good_

His whimpered moan meets her ears, it's faint like an echo bubbling beneath the surface of her own thoughts, and she knows he feels it too, but anything is bound to be good for him, he's been a monk for two years.

But she has been very, very active in the past two years, and this is very, very good.

It happens very fast, she's a bit keyed up, and her anxieties and feared dulled behind the pleasant buzz of the alcohol she's had tonight and she feels herself getting close, finds herself moving the way she needs to, responding to his thrusts, her hips raising to meet his, hears herself go from gentle pants to heady moans, desire churning within her, begging to burst inside of her.

And she gives into the feeling, her hands gripping his ass, begging him to take her deeper, as she cries out his eyes squeeze shut, spilling out curses and then a " _god,_ you feel so amazing, so fucking wet, oh god please please come for me, please..."

She bends a knee against his side, and he takes it as a hint, grabbing her leg and hooking it behind his shoulder, her other leg still laid out before, and the gentle change in the angle makes the pleasure within her go from a warm ache to white hot vibrations, and she lets the feeling overtake her, lets herself breathe and moan into the moment. It was good, very good, and very much the first time in god knows how long.

She shut her eyes during that moment when she reached her peak, the feelings a bit too intense on their own without looking into the handsome eyes of the man above her, but as she recovers and her eyes open, she sees him looking down at her, expression a combination of lust and happiness. There's a smile, not smug, not suggestive, just happy.

He brushes her cheek lightly with one hand, dips his head down and breathes between thrusts "can't…believe…I…lasted…through that. You are so fucking beautiful, so perfect." She laughs, embarrassed because he probably doesn't know that wasn't a performance, that was real.

He's still holding back, though, she can tell in the way he bites his lower lip, in the way he's tensing up, wincing, and there's no need, so she urges him on, her hand once again gripping his ass.

"I want you to come inside me," moans, all breathless and throaty, she barely recognizes her voice.

"God I want to, I really want to." He's breathing so hard now, his face strained in almost torture. "But darling —   _god_! — I don't want this to end."

Her heart swells, and she can’t help but look at him adoringly, because only this man could be balls deep and seconds away from coming inside her and sound so sweet and innocent.

She thinks to remind him they have all night, that he can go multiple rounds, but she doesn't want him to think she's rushing him, so she lets herself give into the feeling again, entirely certain a second orgasm is out of the question, but not wanting to rip the experience from him.

It never stops feeling good, and the pressure builds up in her again, drawing out moans and sighs against his lips, and she can see him practically trembling, so when she licks behind his earlobe and breathes heavily against his ear, she isn't surprised to hear the low groan come from him, spilling out compliments and about how wonderful she is, how beautiful, how perfect, and how he's going to come now, he's going to come. His hips thrust and hers go to meet his own and then he comes, his body tensing, eyes shutting tight for a moment as he gives into the moment, nearly stilling inside her, only moving in slow, methodical strokes.

"I—" he starts, before stopping himself from wherever he was going. "Thank you" he settles on saying, and she bites back a laugh because she knows he'll misinterpret it as laughing _at_ him, when truly, she wants to laugh because he's adorable, and he's made her so truly happy tonight, and that is rare. Frankly, under the circumstances, unheard of.

He's off to the bathroom, and when he returns he looks…conflicted. Upset. And she has a desire to make sure he feels okay, to make sure he doesn't view this evening as a weak moment in his life. She's not sure why, but she doesn't want to be that type of memory for him. He doesn't deserve to be feeling badly for hiring her, not when he's treated her well, not when she's truly enjoyed herself.

 

.::.

 

Sex for the first time in four years is a lot like having sex for the first time ever. She was warm, and wet, and tight, and soft, and everything all at once, and she came on his tongue, or she faked it, and faked it wonderfully, because her juices were all over his lips and tongue, she had clenched tightly around his fingers in patterned, fluttered movements so reminiscent of what he felt with Marian.

It had almost been therapeutic, almost like a massage for his soul, being together with someone else like this. It didn't take away from Marian's memory like he had worried. Though when he entered her, when they became joined, the feelings that surrounded him were almost too much, and he wondered if it had ever felt this good before.

Every movement she had made, every moan, every time her eyes stared back at him, he found himself falling deeper into the sensations, completely overwhelmed.

When he felt her come, her muscles clenching around him, massaging his cock as liquid warmth surrounded him, his body begged for the same release, the sounds she was making were almost enough to drive him over the edge. But he had bit down, refusing to finish, because this would be it.

He isn't doing this again. It is wrong to do this, and certainly dangerous to feel this close to a woman he had hired. He is going to hurt himself, he is more far gone than he knew, feeling things so quickly for a near-stranger. He has to reign himself in.

But frankly she is like a drug and the thought of never having her again was painful to him, and he had been determined to stretch this out as long as he could.

Until, his balls tightened and throbbed, his cock twitched for minutes, painful now, his entire body had gone tense, and then he had looked into her eyes and let himself go, spilling inside the condom, feeling utterly satisfied for the first time in forever.

He had kissed her then, just gave her lips a quick peck, then he pulled out of her (his heart raced a bit when he heard her groan at the loss of him) and went to the bathroom to dispose of the condom.  And the realization of what he had just done hits him.  Because this isn’t real, he used her, asked her to play a role and his poor, immature heart has already fallen for every part of her.

When he returns to the bedroom, he finds her sprawled out on the bed, laying against a pillow, and her arms are out, beckoning him to go lie down next to her. Because he's paid her for the whole night, he reminds himself. Not because she wants him there.

He shouldn't. This is dangerous, and he's already feeling too much. This isn't real, this is make believe with a beautiful, sensual actress.

He shouldn't go back to bed. He should get changed, wish her a good night, and go.

He tells that to himself over and over again as he joins her in bed, kissing her forehead and pulling her onto his chest.

"Thank you" he says again, giving her body a quick squeeze.

She chuckles "You don't have to thank me for this," she reminds him, but he shakes his head.

"I do though. I don't think you realize…." He sighs, because he can't put it into words what the experience has meant to him, and frankly, she probably doesn't care.

She snuggles closer into him, and he breathes in her smell, basks in the warmth of a naked body next to him like this, and it's wonderful. Makes him feel safe, alive, and almost understood in a way he hadn't remembered feeling since Marian.

He's missed this. He's missed this more than he can say, more than he knew when he finally broke down and hired this woman, planned this night. Yet, it still feels like an impossibility to have something like this again. Outside of the manufactured connection so easily crafted by the clever woman next to him, of course. Finding something real would require a larger commitment than he's willing to make right now, and would subject him to more heartache then he's ready to face.

But he can't help but wish the woman next to him was really there for _him_ , that the night wasn't just a transaction. A transaction, he reminds himself, is all it had been, regardless of how he felt, regardless of appearances. Regardless of the orgasms she appeared to have, regardless of how comfortable she seemed in his arms right now.

It was a transaction where he'd paid her to play a part, and she'd done so very well. A part she probably had to play because she needed the money desperately, for some reason, and he had openly degraded her, taken advantage of her struggles and it was wrong, so wrong.

Guilt washes over him in heavy waves, his conscience berating him for wanting to keep her the whole night, she should have the night off, it's the least he can do.

He kisses the top of her head, breathing in her intoxicating smell once more, and then painfully extracts himself from her safe embrace.

"I should go," he says in a whisper, and he sees her face fall into confusion.

"That bad, huh?" she responds with an attempted wink

"Huh?" he asks, almost befuddled.

"Skipping out early. We have the whole rest of the night, you know."

"I….no, tonight was probably the best -" He won't finish the sentence, because it's pathetic to admit this is the best night he's had since Marian died. "Anyway, it's just, I figured, you might want to, your son—"

"Do you need to get home to _your_ son?" she asks, interrupting his rambling.

"No, he thinks I'm in an out-of-town business meeting."

"My son actually thinks the same thing. So I can't go home tonight." She shrugs. "I already called him while you were in the restroom with that child during dinner — and told him I had arrived safely and to listen to the sitter."

He nods, his eyes refusing to meet hers. "Regina, I can't express how great this night was, but…"

"You don't have to feel guilty, you know." She says plainly, and he realizes he's easier to read than he thought.

"What?" he asks, a bit shocked by the bluntness.

"There's nothing to feel guilty about. You were a perfect gentleman, and I was truly enjoying tonight. And I don't just say that sort of thing. So don't feel guilty. And don't pity me either. If I look at you and see pity in your eyes, I'll smack you. Ok?"

He laughs, looks up at her in amusement, but there's still sadness in his eyes. "Okay."

She pulls him back until he's once again laying down and she's on top of him.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks, it's not accusatory, just curious, and soft.

She removes herself from his chest, turns towards him, laying on her side so she can face him.

"Doing what?"

"Trying to make me feel better about all of this. Trying to… you already went above and beyond, you know."

She sighs. "If I told you I liked you, would you believe me?"

He doesn't answer, only smiles. He shouldn't let himself believe that, no. But he'd like to.

"Well, I don't want you feeling miserable after what should have been a good experience. You looked so happy for a moment, and now…" she cups his cheek, planting a kiss on his lips. "I don't want you leaving looking like this night has put you in any pain. You've been in enough pain, it sounds like. Okay?"

"Painful is the last word I'd use to describe this evening," he admits, his cheeks flushing red. She laughs, looks him in the eyes and there's a tender moment.

"Stay awhile," she says, almost a whisper. "I know you don't want to leave, so stay. Let's pretend to be a normal couple for tonight."

He shouldn't. It's a terrible idea.

"Alright" he says, turning and lying on his side and facing her.

She draws him out in a light conversation, and he eases back into comfort. They're lying there, naked, strangers to each other only hours ago, but things feel so comfortable. It's not awkward, and his hands start wandering and tracing her curves as they lay facing each other, soft touches that get bolder, because god, she's so beautiful, so sexy, and so warm, responding to his touch, goosebumps when he traces over her hip bone and strokes to her back side. Her breath hitches as he rubs his fingers lazily up from her hip to her navel, and then, tracing the side of the swell of her breast. Her hands wander too, stroke his side, lightly cupping his ass, she's going soft and gentle, easing him into this as they talk about favorite places to travel, sharing teasing childhood memories of family vacations gone bad.

He wants her again, and she knows it, is certainly acting like she's into it too (she's paid to act like that, you idiot, he reminds himself), and he fights with the voice inside his head telling him not to do this again until lust takes over and wins the argument he was having with himself, and his hands grow greedy, rubbing and touching her and finally touching that spot between her thighs, reveling in the warm honeyed feel of the wetness there. All talk stops, and she is kissing him, straddling him, putting a condom on him without so much as asking what he wants (she knows, he thinks, she can read him well). She's riding him as he looks down at her from below, watching her tits bounce as she fucks him, delighting in the view, the sounds, the feel of her.

It feels like she comes right before he releases, like they almost come together, and when she lays back down on him she's panting, sweat-sheened and raw and beautiful, and he wants this forever, he's already lovesick like a school child, and it can never be.

It's depressing. And yet the thought of never seeing her again…

As he comes down from his high, sees her breathing regulate, knows she'll be asleep soon, he finds himself reaching for another time, another contact.

"I, uh, I was wondering if you um did lunch dates" he says, quickly amending "just lunch, and of course, I'd you know, pay the time, I just…"

She smiles and shakes her head. "I don't do anything before 6 PM on weeknights. I have a day job."

"Ah." Curiosity overwhelms him but he knows she won't tell him much about this day job, so he prefaces "I'm not asking where or who you work for, but what sort of work do you do?"

Regina glances up at him. "I'm an assistant for someone very powerful. I do a little bit of everything. In title, I'm not much more than a secretary. But make no mistake, the place would collapse without me."

Robin laughs. "I have no doubt" he says.

When it's time for him to go, he dresses, his eyes never leaving her as she stretches naked on the bed, giving him a satisfied smile and looking so sweet, her facial expression so oddly innocent, such a starch contrast to her sinful body, the utterly tantalizing position it's in, and he has to draw his eyes away, because he wants more.

 

"I'm never going to see you again, am I?" Her facial expression is soft, resigned, but almost sad, as if she misses him already.

 

He can’t hide his shock. "I want to see you again." He admits, a sad smile on his face. But no, he wasn't going to do this again. If she had agreed to a lunch…to some time where he could just pay for her company, where he wouldn't be tempted to go further with her – where the call of returning to work would keep him from making another date into…all of this, sure he might have convinced himself it was worth it. But she wasn't available like that, and he shouldn't be doing this anyway.

"There's a discount for repeat customers" she says, and it's almost like she doesn’t want to see him go, but he's hit again with the guilt, the realization of what _this_ is when she mentions the money.

"It's not about the money" he says, because it's not. It's a lot of money, but it's nothing he can't handle. He lives cheap, he makes enough to get by to splurge on these costs.

"I figured.”  Her eyes go down for a bit, lashes flutter.  And then she looks back up at him, a tender little glance that has his heart knocking hard in his chest. "But, if you ever feel the need again…" she trails off, and god he wants to say yes, but he can’t.

 

.::.

 

She shouldn’t keep pressing to see him again.  The offer was already made, and he won't accept. She won't get a client like this again, and it's probably for the best. She sighs. "Well, I wish you the best. You're a good man. And a good father. You should, get back out there, you know."

He frowns a bit, at that, and he clearly disagrees, he's been adamant that he's done with real dating, real relationships. "I'm a bit of a mess, you know."

She nods. "Me too."

He tells her again how wonderful the night was, that it meant a lot to him, more than she knows, how wonderful her company had been, and she feels the sting of tears behind her eyes, because no one has sounded as grateful as he did at the end of an evening, no one has sounded like they truly felt anything more than scratching an itch, and he, he made it sound like she had just cured an ailment, patched him up, healed him, did something good, something that wasn't dirty and demeaning.

She wants to wrap herself up in those kind words, wear it as armor for all the dates she will have in the future. But the words will fade overtime. This memory will get replaced by other, grosser ones. And life will go on.

She won't see him again. Of that she is almost certain. And she shouldn't be sad or disappointed over that fact.


	3. Chapter 3

It has been over two weeks since he last saw Regina, and he still finds his thoughts drifting towards that night whenever he has a spare moment.

It had been a wonderful night, one he wants desperately to repeat, but he had promised himself not to do that again, not to take advantage of whatever put Regina in the position to sell her body. He has to remind himself that the night of passion he had was probably miserable for _her_ , fighting down the part of his mind that clung to her movements, her body language, her tone of voice, the way she called out during sex… all the things that told him she wasn't miserable that night.

Despite spending far too much time thinking of that night (and thinking about Regina in general), he still hadn't left a review. He did his research into escorts before entering this world, and it was a thorough investigation into everything, including the more unsavory practices of johns and escorts. And reviews…. Well, they are important. They are in fact the lifeblood of the escort’s reputation. Obviously, word-of-mouth does not work much as many people choose not to discuss the quality of escorts they've used with coworkers, friends and family. Reviews are expected and are why escorts work so hard to please you during a session.  They need the positive review as much as they want the return customer.

The last two times Robin had used this “service, the escort themselves had contacted him via email reminding him to give a review. He had, reluctantly, signed onto The Erotic Review website and wrote sparkling reviews of the ladies, one of whom actually did nothing other than take his money and accept his fervent apology for his inability to go through with the session. But he showered both of them with compliments nonetheless, singing their praises in the most vague way as possible.

It has been two weeks since their night, however, and Regina has yet to ask for a review. She most certainly deserves one, of course.  She had worked especially hard that night and delivered a stellar performance. He had been convinced that a positive review was what she was after when she flirted with him at dinner, when she sensed his nervousness and made the move to kiss him first, when she put on an act that could fool anyone into thinking they were a real couple, and when she even coaxed him to stay longer, and to have a second round.

But it appears the review doesn’t matter at all to her.

And that is good, because reviewing her as if she were a restaurant, or a piece of meat… god, it feels cheap and wrong and dirty.

Perhaps she doesn't even need a review. A woman like her probably makes her money on a few repeat clients. She had asked if he would see her again, and that must be her modus operandi.

She probably had thought he'd be a repeat client, and that's why she accepted him. That makes sense, he thought to himself. That must be why she had tried so hard to please him. She had expected to have him come back to her again and again. What man wouldn't be addicted to her, after all?

He certainly is.

But it was wrong to hire her, to take advantage of her like he had. And it is also wrong to already be feeling things  things that could not be tied exclusively to lust, if he was being honest – for a woman he shared one evening with. That, more than anything, concerns him.

Is he so deprived of human interaction that he can be so emotionally invested in a woman he shared one evening with? It is utterly pathetic, and he curses himself for the first time for becoming a social recluse after Marian's death. Clearly it has him so desperate and so grateful to anyone who gives him the type of… attention he secretly craves that he falls for everyon.

Regina still occupies his thoughts, despite knowing she should not. He wonders what her life was like, what she needs this money for, how often she has to meet with clients… but also other things entirely unrelated to her work as an escort. What her day job was. What activities she would do with her son on the weekend. What her friends are like. If she likes baseball games, if she was a dog or a cat person….and why? Why does he continually think about this woman he was determined to never see again?

He is lost in thought, thoughts of Regina, of his night with her, when he enters the office kitchen on Monday morning.

"Someone's in a good mood.”

He jumps, nearly spilling the coffee as he pours himself a mug full, turning towards the source of the teasing voice.

"I'm always in a good mood, Ruby" he says glancing over at his secretary with a carefully crafted smirk, daring her to argue with him.

"No you're not, not on Monday's," Ruby points out. And yes, that is true. Not because he hates his job, but because Mondays are the first day of the week, when he had to leave his son hours at a time.

Sometimes, on the worst of Mondays, Roland cries and begs for no aftercare, asking his father why he couldn't just pick him up after kindergarten like his friend's mothers do. And then, Robin is pulled back into thinking how horribly unfair it was that Roland does not have his mum like all of his friends. How terribly unfair it is that Robin has to leave his child for so long everyday, and how if Marian were there she could have worked parttime, or hell, with the money he makes, quit her job and stay with her son fulltime.

But this morning had gone well. Roland had been excited, because his friend Tom was now in aftercare – thank god – and they were doing some sort of nature scavenger hunt on the school grounds, so Roland had been in particularly high spirits.

And so Robin permitted himself to be in high spirits as well, without the guilt of worrying about his son.

"Who says I am in a bad mood on Mondays? I love it here!" He punctuates his statement with a little wink to Ruby.  

Mulan entered the office kitchen next, looking a bit flustered. "Rubes, you're never going to guess what I'm— why are you in such a good mood?" She gasps, stopping mid sentence, her attention diverted to Robin, as if she had just seen a ghost.

This is starting to get embarrassing.

"Am I usually some sort of Grinch?" he asks, "Because quite frankly, if I'm being honest, my unbiased opinion is I am delightful to be around at all hours of the day, everyday." He sips his coffee and offers a look that conveys how satisfied he is with himself. Mulan just rolls her eyes.

"Mother superior is here to see you.”  Mulan lips purse, her eyes sparkling, "It's such a good thing you're always such a delight to be around, because after spending the day with her—”

" _Day_? I have a meeting with the contractors at noon and a thousand phone calls to make, I can't simply..."

"I'll handle them."

"Why does Fran need to speak to _me_?" He asks, and there it is, his good mood is gone just like that. Mother Superior, as they liked to call her, was a Vice President of a big oil corporation, Constellation Power that they were to be merging with.

"Dunno," Mulan shrugs, feigning interest in something in the fridge. "Why don't you go see what it's about?"

Mulan had built their nice little green energy company – Mushu Enterprises– from the ground up.  Robin had helped her every step the way, and could not be prouder of what his best friend had been able to achieve. The company grew rather quickly, their products incredibly innovative. Enough to catch the attention of large companies who wanted to make their move into green energy products. And this one offered her a merger, of sorts, instead of buying the company outright.  The fact she might still maintain some control appeals to Mulan (and Robin, if he’s being honest). Really, she only will get a seat at the table of the board, and will probably only get to maintain a lot of control of the day-to-day parts of her company, but it’s more than she’s been offered elsewhere. And Mulan is optimistic enough to think she could do some real good with a voice in a big energy company like Constellation, so she’s been working with them thusfar.

Fran Bleu is in control of the details of the merger on Constellation's end. Every mundane detail matters a great bit to Ms. Bleu, who is worried the Board of Directors will not approve the merger if Mulan doesn't wear bland, well-tailored skirt suits, or the presentations on projected growth are not highlighted and bolded in _just_ the right way. Mulan and Robin had come up with the nickname "Mother Superior" due to her prim, holier-than-thou ways.

Mulan and Robin both hate her.

Robin prepares himself as he enters the makeshift conference room of their company, putting on his best smile.

.::

"Ms Bleu! So nice to see you!"

"Mr. Lockley," Ms. Bleu greets, taking out her hand, the same cautious grimace on her face, as if she is worried he might cover her in germs. He takes her hand and shakes it warmly, noticing how her tight, tensed body never relaxes.

"Yes well, " she says primly, sitting down, looking into her well-tabbed binder, "Mulan tells me you're the person in charge of public relations for your company?"

"Oh did she say that?" Robin asks, biting back a laugh. Their little company had no such PR department – but issues of press releases are always handled by Mulan. It's clear now: Mulan had pawned him off on Bleu, obviously having no desire to go through the mundane road of detailed nonsense of forming a carefully crafted statement, down to the items of clothing they should wear and the "image" their facial expressions should portray. He'd be angry except… Mulan is his boss, and his friend, and he'd do anything for her. Even take this bullet.

"She did indeed. And of course, I handle public relations issues – issues, because I catch them before they turn into a crisis. And Mr. Locksley, I've spotted an issue, an issue that will soon become a crisis if we don't nip this in the bud immediately."

"Mm, and what is that?"

Ms. Bleu pulls a few statements she's found from Mulan – and even one from him – over the years critical of Big Energy. Mulan is blunt and sarcastic, making a mockery of oil corporations, and of course, Constellation was a traditional energy company.

"So you see our problem. If the board does some digging they will see Mulan as an anti-traditional energy person and –"

"We are a green energy company, afterall," Robin reminds her.  Their business was generated in finding customers who hated traditional energy companies. Of course that involved making digs at Big Oil. Of course, they did so in Mulan's own way, and that meant a bluntness not used by most CEO.

Ms. Bleu nods curtly, "And we need to figure out how to address this so the Board can agree that you will be a good fit in this company. The appointment with our public relations team is today at one o'clock.  I'd like you to review this," she takes a large binder out of her briefcase – and meet me there so we can discuss –"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Bleu, for the misunderstanding, but I actually am not at your complete disposal until this merger is finished," Robin interrupts, his voice vibrating with the curt, false apologetic tone. "I'm in meetings all day. I'd be more than happy to sit in with you at a public relations meeting any time."

"This is of high, immediate importance," Fran Blue looks down at her papers, shuffling them neatly. She doesn’t even even look flustered by his refusal to help. Shit, she could at least have the decency to act as if she was _trying_ to win this argument instead of acting like she already won. "Mulan assured me your day could be cleared in an emergency and that's what this is."

She stands, dropping a binder in front of Robin, who can’t quite hide an amused smirk from falling on his face.

"Please have this information reviewed prior to the meeting. The address is on this card. See you at  twelve0thirty sharp."

And with that, the little waif wisps away.

.::.

Mulan is in his office when he returns, the binder from Fran Bleu in his hand. She is just sitting there, a coy smile on her face.

"Thanks for that" he says, holding up a binder of information in his hand. Thanks indeed, for sticking him with Fran the whole day.

Mulan can only respond with laughter at first, and then they chat about how annoying Bleu is until Mulan leaves, glancing over her shoulder and giving a heartfelt thank you to Robin for taking care of this for her.

.::.

He enters the public relations firm at  twelve-thirty and finds quite quickly that he is quite unwelcome.  

The receptionist informs him that he needs to make a separate appointment, that he simply cannot be seen today.  That statement makes Robin's day, and he apologizes and begins to walk towards the elevator.    


But Ms Bleu stays, insisting that Robin was with her and would be accompanying her to their standing meeting with Gold. The receptionist looks… quite apprehensive…as she calls Gold and tells him his One PM meeting had arrived.

"Fran," Gold greets as he walks into the lobby, holding out his hand and he was all smooth and professional, but his smile was anything but genuine, teeth clenched, obviously unhappy. And of course, he probably knew that Ms. Bleu hated being called Fran. "Per this meeting, I have compiled a social media strategy…"

"Something more pressing has come up," Bleu said nonchalantly. "Mr. Gold, this is Mr. Locksley, vice president of Mushu Enterprises. Constellation will be acquiring them – I'm sorry, technically, _merging_ with them, in a way, and we need some help with how to sell this merger to the public and the Board."

"You're going to have to make a new meeting for new business," Gold sternly reminds, "I wasn't even aware there was going to be a merger, I will need to research–"

"Mr. Gold, Constellation pays good money to your firm, and in return I would hope you would make the time to address these issues as they arise." Bleu says, "I only found out about this potential issue this morning, and as you see, Mr. Locksley as cleared his afternoon to make sure we can avoid any potential PR disaster. You always said it's best to be proactive."

That seems to do it. Gold pauses, cocking his head to the right, giving thought to Bleu's words.

"Yes, well…" Gold stick his hand out, "Mr. Locksley, apologies for my rudeness in not introducing myself sooner."

"Call me Robin," Robin offers, shaking his hand, "And don't worry, this meeting came as quite the surprise to me as well."

Bleu gives Gold a run down of the potential pitfalls she sees with the merger, and Gold writes everything down, Robin struggles not to roll his eyes at the absurdity of all of this. Who really cares about an energy company merger? He knows Constellation has struggled, has a rather bad image given a recent response to an oil spill, perhaps provoking this sudden concern with anything that could draw attention to the company, but still…

Gold moves his finger to the intercom. "Forgive me, lady and gentleman, I'm going to have to call my assistant to help the both of you.

He makes the call short and sweet. "Ms. Mills, I need you in conference room "C" immediately."

Whoever is at the other end doesn't respond. She is probably used to being ordered in such a way.

Gold then turns to Robin. "I'm going to need some information on Mushu. Before we proceed I'm going to need you to fill out these forms and meet with my assistant." He hushes Bleu before she can get a word in edgewise. "You and I will discuss this further, Fran, but I will put Mr. Locksley in good hands with Ms. Mills while we get the background on his company."

Robin looks at the extensive paperwork he was handed in a thick binder, an extensive questionnaire at the very front. It asks all about the corporation's "brand", the "message" they want to portray to the public, their "current PR strategy", and he laughs. Their little corporation had none of this.

"This is…thorough…" Robin muses, trying not to laugh at the ridiculous questions.

"We need to know our clients inside and out to provide them with the very best service" Gold dexplains. "Miss Mills will give you the run down in just a moment."

He's still flipping through the pages he's been handed, bent down, studying the questions, wondering how public relations could become so ridiculously complex, when she enters.

"Ms. Mills," Gold calls out, "It appears Ms. Bleu has brought in a friend."

He hasn't looked up from this paperwork yet. Not until his attention is pulled by the introduction, and when he looks up, he's not at all prepared for the person he sees before him.

He is not at all prepared for the chocolate brown eyes he's staring into. Not at all prepared to see the woman he's been dreaming about to be right in front of him again.

No.

No, this cannot be happening.

But it is.

It's her warm chocolate eyes, her beautiful slender body wrapped up in a conservative, yet form fitting black dress, her lips, now painted some shade of burgundy, her hair, styled perfectly in rich tresses that frame her face. All the pieces of her, all the parts he remembers, all there in front of him as if it's a dream.

"Mr. Locksley, this is my assistant—"

"Regina," he breathes, almost in question, in pure shock.

"I see you know each other." Gold says, an eyebrow raised, "This won't be a problem, will it?"

Regina is a professional. That's how Robin would describe her. The moment he looked up he saw the split second flash of shock and fear that crossed through her face, but she's schooled her features and she looks completely calm.

"No…far from a problem," Robin says, and it's a bit like picking himself off the floor, recovering from the initial shock that nearly had him brain dead for a second. He's smiling broadly, cannot help but be pleased that she's back in his life, that he gets to see the woman who he's thought so much about since he last saw her.

"Robin," Regina acknowledges him, shaking his hand, but oh, the touch is harsh, and her smile is cold and empty, and she's trying to act like everything is fine but she's clearly upset. He thought she was a better actress than this. At least, she was a better actress that night…

"How lovely to see you again." She says, her teeth clenching at the end of that sentence.

"And how do you know each other?" Gold inquires, looking at both of them with an amused smile on his face. What exactly does he know? What exactly does he _think_ he knows?

"It's… a long story. One I'll be sure to share with you when you aren't so busy." Robin says, pointing to Ms. Bleu. He's saved them, he realizes, when Gold breaks eye contact and directs his attention back to Fran Bleu. They have time to come up with a story, if he ever remembers to work that out with Regina.

And with that, Gold strikes up conversation with Ms. Bleu, and Regina is motioning for him to follow her.  

"Robin, let me show you to a separate room where we can discuss your company." Regina says curtly, that false smile still on her face.

  


.::.

She smells like spices, faint scent of apples, probably a shampoo, and it brings him back to that night in an instant, his mind flashes to taking her in that conference room, pushing her against the door and kissing her breathless. But that's not happening. Not ever. He knows that.

Because it seems that their coincidental meeting has not gone over well with her. She's tense, stiff, her body language almost radiating anger. She shuts the conference door a bit too harsh, and when the door clicks shut loudly, she jumps a bit. But only for a second, and then she's on him. But not the way he'd like.

"What are you doing here?" she hisses, and she's so, so angry, but trying so hard not to scream.

"I…had a meeting." He answers. He bites back a smirk. Or tries, anyway, but an amused sliver of a smile sneaks through. It was funny, if you think about it, how life handed them this huge coincidence.

"No. No you did _not_ !" She bites back, a finger pointing back at him, waving at him menacingly. Her voice is shaking, eyes a bit watery. She's not embarrassed. She's maybe… is she scared? "Gold never takes a blind client intake. And I… I _screened_ you. You aren't on the prospective or current list of clients. You did _not_ have a meeting with him."

She had personally verified his information before their meeting, something usually done by a verification process instead of the escort herself – but she had done her own check, asking for his employment information as well as phone number where she had someone call to verify that yes, this was the Robin Locksley requesting an appointment for this date. He thought it was done to keep things safe, so she had a list of who she was “dating”, so she could tell for sure that it wasn't a law enforcement officer scheduling a date. But it appears this process, this added step, is taken to make sure she isn't making a date with someone who could have a connection to her day job.

"Regina, if you just calm down for a second…" he starts, but no, no judging from her reaction that is a _bad_  thing to say.

"Calm down? Don't you tell me to _calm down!"_  She starts walking towards him, that finger up in his face again, accusing. Her stance is defensive, though, she looks more scared than threatening. "Again, I have no idea what you're planning, or who you work for, but if you think you can blackmail me, I assure you whatever you're threatening to do, I _will_ take you down with me, don't think I won't."

"Blackmail?" It's not funny anymore, it's insulting. His heart goes cold, yet another reminder how little she must think of him, how everything she said to him, every compliment she paid, was all just an act. "Regina, I would _never._ I understand how little you must think of someone like me, but for a second—"

She breathes out an unamused, sarcastic "Hah!" and he pauses, looks at her, waits for her to explain the reason for the laugh.

" _I_ must think so little of _you?”_ She asks, and then pauses, changes the direction of the conversation. "Did you know who I was before, Mr. Locksley? Is that why you told me that story of your wife, did you think you'd tell me and I'd do anything for you because—”

And she stops there, probably because she can read the anger mixed with utter confusion in his face.

Of all the insulting things she could think or say to him, that was one of the worst.

"I didn't lie about my wife." Robin says through clenched teeth. "I would _never_ sully her name or memory for anyone or anything. _Ever."_

He doesn't want to talk about Marian. Not now. And he certainly doesn't want her thinking he used the story for some sort of game with her. He would never do that, and just the thought that she would think that has his blood boiling.

She's still a bit deer-in-headlights, looking shocked at how upset Robin became at the accusation.

"Regina, sit down." He makes his voice as calm and soothing as he can, and motions to the chair. He runs through his reason for being here, explains how Bleu trapped him into coming spur-of-the-moment, and how Gold could confirm it all if she doesn't believe him.

Her body language has changed, she seems less angry, less defensive, through his speech.

"What I'm going to do is excuse myself and tell Mulan Cheng, the owner of the company, that she has to handle this herself. She only gave this to me because she also hates dealing with Fran Bleu. So you won't have to deal with me anymore."

She looks up at him, all this time, she's been staring off, avoiding his gaze. And when she looks at him she just looks terrified, and even…hurt.

"Regina, I don't know what I did to give you the impression I would stalk you at work, or try to blackmail you, but—"

"Nothing." She admits, looking into his eyes, "You did nothing to make me think you'd be capable of this. That's what's so scary. I'm usually so careful…"

"It sounds like you are." He is hurt, still, so he’s not surprised that his tone is sharp and biting. "I'm going to go, ok?"

He misses the panic and fear wipe across her face before it disappears.

"Hold on,” she says hurriedly, standing up. "Just a minute."

He turns back to her, and her face is focused, schooled in some nonchalant expression. It's cold, and dark, and he wants to turn around and leave. But then she speaks.

"I'm sorry that I implied… or accused… you of making up that story of your wife. It's just—I'm not usually wrong about people. I can read them. I thought, what I read of you…" Regina looks at him, and he's tilting his head to the side, just listening. She looks down, and looks back up at him. She only broke his gaze for a moment, but the evidence of tears are there, her makeup still pristine despite the salty liquid coating the apples of her cheeks. She looks so beautiful, so vulnerable, and he wants to hug her, tell her he's sorry, he's an idiot. "I've had clients…follow me. Try to work out where I live, where I work in the daytime…I didn't get that vibe from you, but you're the first client I've ever slipped my first name to, and you're the first client who has ever showed up here…and I thought maybe I let my guard down too much and got burnt. And when you saw me you just looked happy… and then you gave me that smug reaction—”

Any anger he had is gone the moment he sees her tears, but the words dig a knife into his soul, as he remembers that her life is dangerous. She's got every reason to fear him, to see this coincidence as an attempt to harm her, and why should she think him any differently than any of those men? He's that guy, one of those guys, because he hired her, took advantage of whatever terrible situation she must have found herself in and bought her body for the night.

He sighs, never breaking her eye contact, praying she really can read him. "I am happy to see you, or I was. I'm not going to lie. You're—that night meant something to me, probably more than it should."

He instantly wants to take back his words the moment they are out of his mouth, because he knows what the night meant to _her_ was absolutely nothing, and he can see it in her face, some spark of almost pity for him, and no, that is not what he wants.

"But this was a coincidence." He assures, clearing his throat slightly. "I didn't cause it to happen. I wouldn't do that to you, Regina. And the last thing I want to do is make you feel terrible and I hate that I may have already done that."

He doesn't want to go. Wants to stay, to know her in whatever way he can, but it's unfair. She is upset, and something more - he can see her hands are trembling a bit. He's scared her, and it makes him sick. He feels his stomach clench. "So, should I leave right now and call Mulan now?" He gets the offer out before he changes his mind.

Much to his surprise, she shakes her head.

"I'd rather you didn't. You just let Gold know that we know each other, and he's already curious as to how. He's going to ask me about it, and if you leave he's going to do some digging as to…the nature of our relationship. I don't…I can't afford him looking too deeply into my personal life. So I'm asking you to just, just meet with me."

He is relieved to hear this. Shouldn't be – she's only doing this to protect her job – but he's relieved just the same.

"So," he says, sitting down with the binder of paperwork. "We've got some questions to tackle?"

"Have you eaten yet, Mr. Locksley?" Regina asks, her eyes still not meeting his.

"No, unfortunately I didn't get a chance to eat today, with the surprise meeting and all."

He smiles at her, waiting for her to look up and meet his eyes. But she doesn't, she's fixated on her phone, answering an email maybe? Or pretending to, perhaps.

"Pack up that paperwork. We've got a standing reservation at a charming little bistro downtown."

She looks up at him in time to see his eyebrows raise, so she adds, in a whisper "Standard protocol for a new client. We discuss the details of the business in a casual environment. You learn more that way."

Ah. He nods, and then she adds, half-frustrated, half-amused, "Looks like you're getting that lunch afterall."

His face goes flush, cringing and remembering the date he had asked her out on in that desperate moment before he left the hotel room, when he was trying to figure a way to see her again without conflicting with his moral code. She's staring back at him, amused at how embarrassed he looks, and she smirks. He lets out a relieved laughed.

"Sorry" he mutters, though he's not sure for what. Perhaps for being an utterly pathetic, desperate fool that night?

Whatever the reason for the apology, Regina doesn't really respond, only nods in acknowledgment, and then they're out of the small conference room.

.::.

The restaurant is within walking distance, but they split a cab any way. Regina's in heels, and the day is warm. He tries to keep his head straight, but as she sits next to him, her dress rides up a bit, revealing her perfect upper thighs, and his eyes are drawn to them immediately before he can tell himself to stop. He looks away quickly, unsure if she saw him gawking at her. But when the cab driver makes a hard turn and her bare legs touch his own, he's unable to resist looking down again letting his mind flash back to that night, when her legs were bare and wrapped around him, when she arched into his touch instead of leaning away from it.

He remembers every second of that night. Every inch of her body. And a part of him – a very stubborn part – won't let him let go of these memories.

They arrive at a basic power lunch type of restaurant, it looks decent, and is filled with aggressive types in suits eating salads and drinking martinis.  As soon as Regina enters she moves to speak to the host who calls a waiter over immediately to a table in the corner.

She gets right to business, detailing how her firm will meet his public relations needs, why the in depth detail of his corporation is so necessary, and what problems could come about that require a PR assistance in a merger. She's knowledgeable, Regina is, her pitch is well-thought-out and caters to what little she must already know of his company.

He’s absolutely enamored by her.  She's obviously beautiful, but it's more than that, she's intelligent, quick on her feet, poised, and…frankly, far too good to be an assistant of a PR firm, let alone her second job, and he wonders – not for the first time— how she came to have this side job, what led her down this path, and why she would need to—

"Robin, are you listening?" Regina’s voice sliced into his thoughts abruptly, and he almost jumps at the question.

She sighs, reading the expression on his face. "Alright. Get it out." She said, running a hand through her hair.

"I'm sorry, what are you on about?" He really has no clue what she wants from him, what he’s supposed to be saying.

"Go ahead. Ask me." But Robin just stared at her blankly.

"You are wondering why…" there's a pause, a brief pause, as if she's figuring out how to say this in the semi-public environment they are in. "I do what I do. Right?"

Oh.  Well there’s that.  And yes, he had been wondering that.  Kind of obsessively.  

"I—you don't owe me any explanations—"

She leans in, and just above a whisper in an angry, defensive tone she hisses, "Did it ever cross your mind that I might just enjoy being a dirty, dirty whore?"

The words cut deep as he sees how she must view herself, how she thinks he sees her. He cringes, “Regina, please, don't do that."

She stares at him a second, her expression emotionless. "Then stop looking at me that way."

When he questions what she means, she clarifies, "I don't need your pity. If I see any more of that I'm leaving, ok?"

He bites his lower lip and nods his head. It's not really pity, he feels awful for her, but she's a puzzle, so many questions he'll never get the answers to, and the mystery around her is driving him crazy.

He clears his throat and asks the only question he feels he's allowed to ask. "Are you alright?"

She takes a minute, really appears to think on her answer. "I am Robin. You don't need to worry about me. Okay?"

He nods, wondering if she'll run for the hills or call him crazy if he tells her he cares for her. It's utterly ridiculous that he would, but he does. They had one night together and he cares a great deal, cares more than he wants to admit. But before he can decide what to say she's moved the conversation back to work.

She orders them cocktails with their lunch, a move that has Robin surprised. She takes her job seriously.

"I have to ask" he says with a smile, "drinking on the job?"

She smiles back coyly. "We pride ourselves on being an excellent PR company and helping our clients with all their issues – the ones they seek our help on, the ones they don't know they need help on, and those little issues they desperately want no one to know about. Now, I told you to be completely honest with me about every aspect of your company, but…" she takes a deep breath. "Everybody lies." She says those last words in a different voice, as if she were quoting someone.

"Ah, and what am I holding back about my company?" Robin asks.

"Nothing much that I can tell at the moment - certainly I hope nothing that will delay the merger… but what you've told me of Mulan…" she pauses, and gives him an apologetic look, "She's gay, right?"

Robin runs back over everything he's said so far and can't figure out in the slightest how Mulan's orientation could have dropped from it. She must have read something into his words, but what?

"It's unlikely to be an issue with the merger, but it depends who you have on the board," Regina explains, not even waiting to hear if she's right. "Luckily the prejudicial older people will be entirely clueless as to her sexuality so they won't know they are supposed to be bigoted towards her on the basis of it. So we only have to deal with the fact she’s a female CEO.  And a woman of color.”  Regina sighs with a bit of frustration.  “An uphill battle on its own."

She pauses for a second, sipping the last of her bourbon slowly, “I understand why Mulan would want you to take most of the time with Fran Bleu. Fran wouldn't approve of her lifestyle at all. And as much as I hate to admit it, you need that little bitch on your side. You're getting a spot on the board of one of the biggest companies in the world. That is…incredible, really. You can't afford any of the higher executives to be on your bad side."

"I don't see what Mulan's love life has to do with this merger," Robin mutters, his whole mood clouded by thoughts of old white men making judgments on his brilliant and talented friend.

"It doesn't," Regina said with a smile. "If everyone only cared about business, there'd be little need for public relations firms."

"Good point Miss Mills" Robin smirks, toasting his glass to her with a little smile. She giggles, _giggles_ and it brought his mind back to that night when she seemed so carefree and happy.

She leans in, crossing her legs under the table, and the shift causes her to touch his legs under the table. She blushes and apologizes for "kicking" him but the soft touch only serves to bring him back to that night, his eyes roaming quickly over her, her beautiful shoulders, the curve of her chest (the hint of cleavage when she leans forward), toned arms, lovely, long neck, those lips, my god…

"Robin." The tone is one of warning, and he redirects his gaze to her eyes. Shit. Busted. She sighs and takes a sip of wine. "Don't look at me like _that."_

"Like…how?" He's already been chastised for looking at her with pity – and he certainly wasn't doing that now, and he feels the need to tell her.

"Like you've seen me naked." she says cooly.

"I wasn't looking at you that way" he insists, fighting back his embarrassment with false assertiveness, his eyes twinkling with mischievousness. "I was looking at you like I _wanted_ to see you naked. And I can try to stop, but it's going to be hard to not look at you like that. But at least I'm in good company." He turns his attention to a man at another table who's been stealing glances at Regina. "Several men are looking at you the same way. I'm just trying to fit in."

She rolls her eyes, looking more annoyed than his words should have. "So cocky. What happened to the guy with the sheepish looks and the apologies for every lingering glance he made in my direction?"

His cheeks flare, he coughs a little into a glass of water. Realizes how he's come across from her perspective. "He's still here, over layers of… protection" he says. But she's staring daggers into him. "I'm sorry, my instincts in situations like these…at least in business, is to uh, put on a bit of a front of…self confidence."

Regina contemplated that for a moment. "Or maybe this is the real you and that night you were just an act. Maybe you planned to have me let my guard down and then—”

Were they really back to this? She doesn't look convinved of her accusation, not really, but he gets it. Over the course of dinner he's gone into business mode – he's out of his league talking about these issues and the over-confident mask has always suited him well, but it's not something to do with Regina.

"Oh yeah," he interjects, rolling his eyes. "This all went according to my plan. Instead of just contacting you again, after a night _that_ great, I decided to stalk you, locate where you work, and ensure the fact we will never end up in that... position again. And then— then! To be forced to sit across the table with you and find you you're… bloody brilliant and just as beautiful as I remembered and all the while I have to keep my mind on this merger when all I can think about is how you—"

He stops himself just in time, the drinks they had not enough to make him lose control of his mouth completely, but enough to coat it, lubricate it so things are slipping out that shouldn't. He looks up at her to find her seemingly completely unaffected by his speech.

"How I...?" she asks, motioning for him to continue. "What were you going to say? Be honest."

He shouldn’t. It’s entirely unsavory.  But then again, she wants his honesty, and he should at least give her that, even if it makes him sound like the ass he is.  

"How you taste." He breaths, before he can talk himself out of making the admission, before he can stop himself, but damn it, he's tired of playing games and pretending he's completely fine, that his mind isn’t wandering to things it should not.  

Her face falls then, and she's staring at the table before her, focusing on the woodgrains, perhaps.

"I'm sorry" he mutters, taking a sip of wine. "I shouldn't have."

"I asked," she reminds lightly. "At least you were honest."

She looks back up at him and it's a bit sweeter now, a bit more understanding.

"This isn't easy for you either, is it?" As if it's the first time she might have realized he's uncomfortable.

"God no." He lets out a breath he didn't know he had been holding in. "Not at all. And for the record, I'm incredibly embarrassed as well."

Regina’s brow knits, her lips curve into a perplexed little pout.  "Why are _you_  embarrassed?"

"Well," he says, preparing his list, "As you can tell I don't usually reveal my true personality to many, and you saw me for what I am, a shy, awkward little man. Then you uh, know in so many words, how exactly _not over_  my wife's passing I am, and frankly that fact is embarrassing, as well as the thousand other little confessions I made to you that night, things I don't tell people – especially people I work with."

He sighed, moved his hands to cover hers, but then stopped, knowing touching isn't something he could do anymore. "I was open with you that night. And earnest. And it's something I don't do much of in life. Not anymore."

He wishes he could read her mind right now, could know what she is thinking as she looks into his eyes for a tender moment, but before he could pry and ask her, her phone is ringing, startling her into the present.

She scowls at the number on the phone, getting up quickly from the table.

"Sorry, I have to take this."

.::.

This entire day has been a mess of emotions for Regina. A night time client of hers had just showed up at her day job, and up until that moment, it was a client she had regarded very highly. A client she would have bet her life on being an upstanding, great guy. And now she isn't sure of what to think.  It appears he’s either an incredibly good liar or he's being sincere with her.

Or maybe she's lost her ability to read people. But she thinks she can trust him. He's nice. He's very good looking, though, and her good looking, cute clients always seem to be the worst. He could be a narcissist. Or a sociopath. They are hard to read, after all. She should stop thinking she can trust him. Also, she should stop thinking about how cute he is.  


But she can't really process any of this, because she had to put her mind to work, to keep this job and meet Gold's expectations of her. And it looks like she wouldn't have time for the rest of the day, because Mrs. Lucas doesn't call during work hours unless something serious has happened.

"Hazel?" she answers into the phone "Is everything alright?"

"Henry's fine dear." Mrs. Lucas says nervously after a slight pause. "I screwed up though. Took him home with me same any other day, and he said he left his uniform at home. I told him to run in and be quick and get it, and then he was gone a bit longer than I expected—"

Regina sighs. "He probably used the missing uniform as excuse to use the playstation."

Henry spent the short time between school and his baseball practice with their next door neighbor. She usually checked to make sure he had everything he needed for the day in his backpack. He wasn't allowed to be home alone for any amount of time at his age, and while it ordinarily wouldn't be a big deal, her parenting skills were under constant surveillance by a bitter ex-husband.

"I'm so sorry, dear. I went out the door to go get him, and well, then I saw… _the_ car.

Regina swallows thickly.  Fuck.  Fuck fuck fuck fuck.  "He's there?"

"He's ringing the doorbell and I see him on the porch. Henry's not answering, I'm sure he saw his father out there. But the stupid boy left his phone here and I can't contact him to help him out of this.

"Oh god…" Regina breathes.

"I know, I know, I'll do whatever you need me to do. I'm so sorry, Regina. The poor boy."

"Let me think for a second." Regina mutters. There has to be a way out of this.

There were two problems with Henry alone and Leopold Blanchard on Regina's porch.

The first was she was technically violating a custody agreement. Any babysitter was supposed to be discussed and agreed to by both parties. But that ended up meaning expensive babysitters who were just paid spies for Leopold, who would always find clever ways of "accidentally" stepping in Leo's favorite lunch or dinner spot so Henry would be forced to see him. And just as dangerous – these "babysitters" could be witnesses to whatever lie Leopold would ask them to be witness to – some mental breakdown Regina allegedly had, picking up her son drunk, being abusive to Leopold – anything he could swing at her to try to ruin her.

She tried to creatively manage Henry's after-school activities so a babysitter wasn't needed. The boy was a natural "joiner", a teamplayer, so he enjoyed the activities. But sometimes – like on Mondays in the spring, there'd be this dead time between school ending and activities starting, and then Mrs. Lucas would watch him for that two hour stretch in direct contradiction to the court order. So if she was caught, it might be the final straw, and the judge might throw out the custody arrangement, might take Henry out of the safe arrangment, might hear Leo out and give _him_ unsupervised visits again.

The thought makes her shudder.

The second problem is that Henry is currently _alone in the house._ And that was even worse, it would give some sort of credence to Leo's "fears" about the "safety" of "his" child. He had already documented one time when Regina had left Henry in the house alone – technically, she had to run to the pharmacy and technically, Mrs. Lucas was in her garden outside, promising to watch the boy – and technically, she had been gone only 10 minutes, but Leo somehow found out, documented it, and she nearly got her chewed out by a judge who insisted Henry had no ability to be unsupervised for even a minute. Mrs. Lucas had sworn she was available, but the judge had chewed her out as well. It had been a terrifying experience for the both of them.

And now, a few months later, oh god…

"I'm—I'm going to be right there" she said.

"Should I – I'll go over there, see if I can sneak in the side door without him noticing?"

"I—no, no, just keep an eye on things. If he looks like he's going to break in maybe go over and distract him, just…I'll be there. Soon."

She heads for the door of the café, signaling the waiter to put the meal on her company's tab, nearly forgetting her purse and… the fact there's a man sitting waiting for her. She runs back to the table.

"I'm sorry," she says, her voice not at all hiding the absolute panic she's in, and damnit, he can see it all over her face, the look of worry is in his eyes in a second. "I have to go. I need to get home immediately."

"What is it?" he asks, "Regina, is everything ok? Is it your son?"

Oh god, god, that's right he knows, and he probably knows the look she's wearing right now, because he's a father as well.

"I need to get home. I just need to get to my car and drive and—”  she stares at the empty glasses that once contained drinks they've had with lunch and _damn it_. Did someone see her drinking here? She looked around the restaurant suspiciously. God, there was no time to try to figure that out.

"Oh god," she said, focusing on her bourbon.

"It is only one drink" Robin says soothingly, "But if you think you're not alright to drive, I'll be happy to—"

"I know I'm fine to drive!" She hisses, on the verge of tears, "It's just that I can't risk getting in a car if there's anything in my system at all, there are… DUI's are also based on officers observations, just not blood alcohol content. And if I have anything at all they can lie and –"

Robin is looking at her like she is crazy. And that is just fabulous, isn't it? "I uh, I'm just going to cab it—"

"I don't know what is going on, Regina, but I'm driving you home." Robin says, looking up from his phone. "Give me a second to run and get my car. Stay put."

"No, you can't... I mean, not to my home, Robin. You can't. I'll just take a cab and I…"

"You look like you've seen a ghost," he presses, "Whatever is going on, I owe it to you to help you."

She looks at him and he seems so _damn_ sincere. But she still can't really read him, feels so vulnerable and exposed to him already that the thought of letting him in anymore is down right frightening.

"You don't owe me anything, Robin. You did nothing wrong. I am giving you permission to stop feeling guilty. I just need to get home."

"Let me save you a cab ride," he presses, and oh god, she remembers that there aren't many cabs that will be okay with driving out of the city into the suburbs anyway. "you don't have to share anything with me, just let me do this."

She nods, and he's up in a second running out the door. She takes a second to breathe, gets desperate and sends her son an email, asking if he's ok. She curses herself yet again for cancelling the landline – god, it would come in handy in situations like these, but she's got her son a phone of his own and he's never supposed to be in the house alone to begin with.

She tries to remind herself that Henry might not even be scared at all. It's possible he's playing that infernal video game and doesn't even hear Leo knocking on the door. It's possible, and that might be worse, because when Henry goes to open the door to go home he'll be smack in the face with the man.

It's barely 10 minutes and Robin is already honking outside the restaurant in his car. God, he must have ran back to the garage in a record pace. She gets in and starts to give him directions.

He just listens.

Then her phone starts ringing, and it's a number she doesn't recognize. She panics, then answers, not missing Robin's concerned glance.

"Regina Mills" she says, her voice a bit shaky.

"Mom?" Henry's been crying. Shit.

"Are you okay? Where are you?" She tries to keep her voice calm but she can't help the inflection.

"I'm home, mom, and I am so sorry.  He—he's – he's trying to –" Henry sounds hysterical. Unsurprising, he tries to act like Leo doesn’t scary him but she knows, deep down inside, Henry is terrified.

"Baby, I'm coming home right now. On my way. Just stay there, okay? I know he's out there. Just don't answer the door."

"Mom I'm sorry, I just went home for a second and –"

"It's okay Henry, it's okay. We just have to be careful."

"He's going to knock down the door. He knows I'm in here. He keeps yelling for me to open it, mom."

"He's not allowed to do this." She says, more for her benefit than for his. "Don't let him in, baby."

"He's going to _kill_ me!" he says, his voice is panicked and she wonders if he's just using that term as a hyperbole, or if her son really thinks his intentions are that harmful. With Leo, you can't tell. And it's not like there's not a past of harmful behavior.

"He won't hurt you, sweetheart, he's just trying to make it look like I don't take care of you so the judge will let you stay with him more often," she says, and then curses herself. That's not really comforting, is it?

"I don't want to live with him!" Henry argues, his voice panicked.

"I know, baby, I know. But I'm going to come home and we'll sort this out." He's still panicking, breathing is erratic, so she tries to keep his mind occupied. "How did you call me?"

"I-i-I left my phone at Mrs. Lucas's he said, apologetically. "But, then, I went, I thought, I can skype. I skyped."

"Clever boy," Regina says, as calmly as possible, "Most people would panic, but you've done everything right. It's good, Henry. Everything will be okay."

In that moment, she almost believes it would be. Henry must too, because he's telling her some story about school – soothing both of their minds, until he cries in panic "Mom, he – he – I think he's trying to pick the lock to the fence" he said.

The six foot fence to their backyard – if he got back there he'd be able to see in the windows, he could easily pick a lock to the sliding glass door and oh god –

"I'll call Mrs. Lucas, she's going to talk to him, okay?"

"Mom, she's coming! I see her!" Henry says, "She's talking to him now. Oh man. He's _mad."_

"I'm 12 minutes away," Regina assures. "She won't let him hurt you, I know she's old, but Mrs. Lucas is tough, okay?"

She takes that moment to look up at Robin, who is having trouble focusing on the road. He looks…a mixture of angry and concerned. "Sweetie, I'm driving, I'm going to go now but bring the laptop to my room and shut and lock the door, and you call me if he gets in, okay?"

He agrees and she's off the phone, meeting Robin's gaze. "You uh, you take the next exit,” she directs, trying desperately to pretend he hadn't just heard the end of a very frantic phone call.

"The police," he says, some conviction in his voice. "Why don't we contact the police? Someone is after your son, and it sounds like –"

She's shaking her head "The police are no help" she explains, "They are…he's…"

The carefully constructed wall keeping all her emotions at bay finally breaks down, and tears spill out free easy. She's trying so awfully hard here, and doesn't want to do it in front of him, but talking about how Leopold Blanchard has an army of police on his side – has an army of _everyone_ on her side – it's too much, brings back memories of random "sobriety checks" and calls for "anonymous reports" of someone with her physical description robbing a convenience store, selling drugs, fleeing the scene of an accident…whatever excuse they could use to randomly interfere with her privacy, interrupt her life, question her _son,_ and god, if only her life were as easy as being able to contact the police when she felt threatened.

He doesn't say anything, and she's almost relieved, she can't answer more questions right now and there's nothing he really _can_ say at this point. But with his eyes focused on the road, jaw locked, he blindly reaches across the console and takes her hand. Squeezes it to communicate some level of comfort. She's crying, and he has no idea why, but the simple gesture says he's there for her, and she feels it, feels the sincerity and the level of comfort.

She chokes out directions, leads him to her neighborhood. Eight minutes. It was Eight minutes since her call to Henry.

"Here." She says. "Stop here."

"This is your house?" He asks, but she shakes her head.

"No, I—uh, this is the home behind my house. I've got to go in through the back – it's a long story….”

She's out the door as soon as he stops the car, not caring that she's walking directly into her neighbor's backyard. She feels him behind her as she reaches the fence that separates her backyard from the backyard of the home in front of her. It's a six foot privacy fence, and she hasn't yet figured how she's going to get over it.

"Hey," Robin says, "I don't know what's going on, but you look like you need help. I'll get you over, okay?"

He's being nice, awfully sweet, not demanding she tell him her story – not telling her she's acting crazy (which she is, she's basically breaking into her own back yard, for god's sake) but she nods, lets him give her a boost over the fence (falling unceremoniously on the other side, and _ouch_  she's going to be bruised tomorrow, but hopefully bruised is all she is).

She's relieved to see Henry staring out his bedroom window, smiling at her. Everything is alright.

And then she hears the sound of a fallen body behind her.

 _Robin._ He followed her. Jumped right over the fence and fell right into this mess – this complicated damned life she has to live. God, he would regret it.

"What are you doing?" she scowls, "This is my home, get out."

"I can't – I'm sorry – I have to make sure you're alright."

There is no time to argue. She opens the sliding glass doors to her home, breathing a sigh of relief to find the man she fears is still on the other side of her front door.

"Henry!" she calls, and he's downstairs in a second.

"Mom!"

He hugs her hard, and they have their moment until sounds of outside interrupt. Ms. Lucas is screaming something or other, a "don't you manhandle me you vulgar man!" is heard, and Regina laughs.

"Henry, can you go upstairs, in your room? Don't come down for anything until he's gone, okay? I can handle him."

Henry is grumbling another apology, and then mutters something about not wanting to leave her alone with him until he locks eyes with Robin.

"Mom? Who's that?" he asks, pointing to Robin, who at least has the decency to look sheepish at his presence and the fact he interrupted a quite intimate family moment.

"He's….he's a client of mine from work. I needed a quick ride home. He gave it to me. And uh, he wanted to make sure I got home okay. Which I did, so thank you, Mr. Locksley. You can leave the same way you came."

"Mom – No! He should stay. He won't hurt you if someone else is here." Henry urges. Regina cringes immediately, and god, did he have to mention the violent aspect in front of Robin?

"I'm going to stay." Robin says with conviction, looking directly at Henry. "But I think you better do as your mum asked and go upstairs, yeah?"

Henry nods thanks Robin every so politely, and runs upstairs and slams his door.

Regina sighs, "Robin, you've stepped into something you really don't want to be a part of. I'm telling you to leave. For your own good." She's stern and resolute in her recommendation, face saying that this is no joke, and he ought to take her advice.

But Robin has clearly made up his mind and stubbornly refuses to change it.

She sighs in defeat, too frustrated and tired to argue.  "Just let me do the talking and don’t let him see you." She mutters as she makes her way to the door.

Regina schools her features, the panicked look hidden under what she hopes looks like annoyance. She kicked off her high heels – they were beaten and muddy from her jump over the fence, anyway. Her bare legs had some marks on them, but her dress looks alright enough. She smooths it over, inhales and opened the front door.

"Leo, what the hell are you doing here?" She asks, rolling her eyes at the sight of him.

He looks shocked to see her. She wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all.  She can’t believe she managed to fool him.

"Regina? What are you doing home early?"

"None of your business" she bites back. "What are you doing outside my home, screaming at a poor old lady? I don't have to see you until next Tuesday for your scheduled visit." She likes adding that – the _scheduled_ visit. The only time he had with Henry where a court ordered social worker observed him, making sure Leo was doing no harm.

"I must say, I find it odd that you are home. I don't see your car here. And you know, I had a friend call and he said he saw you having a bit of a late lunch downtown. Weird, isn't it? And I was just in the neighborhood, and I saw our son through the window. I was worried, you see, that's why I called the police. Couldn't have him all by himself at home _again._ That would be irresponsible parenting."

"Well as you can see, I'm here" she mutters, her teeth clenched, holding in her fear, covering it with anger.

"Indeed you are," Leo drawls, "But where is your car? How'd you get home from work? I know you drove to work, I just so happened to be driving by as you got in this morning."

Of course he was.  What a coincidence.

She swallows hard.

"And you see, Regina, I can't help but wonder why our son is home at all - I was told – according to the schedule that you provided for our son's long list of activities, that baseball started at 3 o'clock, and then I got a call from a dear friend and found out no, Henry's age group actually changed the practice time to five forty-five. I wondered, where would my dear son be between school letting out and practice starting, if my lovely ex-wife works downtown in the city?"

She cringes every time he says "our son". _Our_ son. When he damn well knew that Henry was hers and hers alone.

"Leo, it's only a few hours, and there's no need—"

"Oh, I think there is. We'll pick a babysitter we can all agree on, though quite frankly we might not need one for long, because this custody arrangement will be changed, soon enough. Of course, withholding information on our son's whereabouts won't play well, and you know, I completed my anger management training. We'll have to re-evaluate custody. My attorneys are already filing the paperwork.

He knows these threats work, knows that anything involving losing custody of Henry shakes her, but she refuses to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear.

"Get off my property, now. You know you're not supposed to be here." Regina bites the words out, hands clenched into fists by her side.

"Oh my dear sweet wife, it did not have to be like this," Leo says as he takes a step inside the house.

Regina instinctively backs away from him. She isn't scared anymore. It's just that old habits die hard. "If you had only done what you agreed…"

He's backing her up into the hall now, and she's not weak, not at all – it's just that sometimes around him she reverts into the naïve girl she once was, the naïve girl he corrupted and ruined and—

"Is everything alright?" Robin asks, and damn him, he wasn't supposed to get involved. At least his presence seemed to bother Leo.

"I'm sorry, Regina, I didn't know you had company." Leo says, a bit startled, "Have I interrupted something?" he sneers, and Regina rolled her eyes.

"He's a client of mine, he just—" her mind is a blank as to why he's there. But thankfully Robin's is not.

"We had a meeting this afternoon. Turns out she had to rush home – I believe her son's practice started earlier than it was previously supposed to…and I gave her a ride as my car was closer. We decided to finish the meeting here." He nods to the kitchen, where there were two cups – cups he must have pulled out from the cupboard, and paperwork on the kitchen table. It looks legit, it was quick thinking on his part, and thank god for it.

"I've been knocking on this door for a half hour," Leo grumbles, "Why did no one answer it?"

Regina's voice hitches slightly, but her eyes lock with his as she explains. "I kept hoping you'd remember there's a restraining order and leave." She sighs dramatically, "But I should have known better. You don't make the best life choices."

"Apparently not," Leo grumbles, "I married _you_ after all. Good day, Regina. We'll talk about this at the next custody hearing."

He walks out the door and she slams and locks it behind him.

Regina collapses on the other side of the door. She doesn’t dare let sobs loose, not when her son is near, but she can thank god for this door, solid and strong, with a good lock, a lock that he couldn't pick. She leans on it for support as she slid to the ground, still weak from her encounter with her abuser.

"Regina," Robin calls to her, he looks so concerned, bending down to her level on the floor, touching her shoulder, softly at first, then giving it a good squeeze.

"Robin, I told you to get out of here," she breathes, "Now he might go after _you_ , and god…"

"Who is he?" Robin asks, "I mean, I know he's Henry's father—"

"No!" she said firmly, a little too shaky, "He's not Henry's father. I mean, legally, yes, but…" She groans. "It's a long story. You don't want to know about it or get involved in this. _Leave."_

Robin shakes his head. "I'm not leaving you. Just tell me what this is about. Tell me who that man is that makes you so afraid to call the police, that makes him so unafraid to break a restraining order."

"Leo Blanchard." She breathes, "He's a Blanchard, Robin."


	4. Chapter 4

Robin had spent the last few hours of his life feeling as if he were living in a Grisham novel. At least he hoped it was a Grisham – couldn't bear to think of this story developing into the likes of Koontz or a Patterson.

From the moment Regina had taken that phone call he felt the nervous tension surrounding him.

He had fed off Regina's energy – knowing the stakes were high, the danger real… but not knowing anything of why.

The only thing he had known was that Regina was too focused on saving her son from whatever fate she feared to have time to answer questions.

So he had kept the many questions, piling ever higher in his mind, at bay, focusing on getting to this moment exactly - when the threat had temporarily dissipated. He had kept his mouth shut, though questions and offers dared to seep out. Something inside him had screamed that she needed this, that she needed his support, no questions or comments.

So he had waited for the storm to settle, at least the immediate threat to go away. When she seemed safe from whatever big bad danger there was outside.

Now he is overwhelmed with a desire to help her, to work through this, to hatch a plan, find a solution. Why does he have this belief he coan help? She is a capable woman, of that he has no doubt. Smart, bold, audacious… in short, certainly no one who needs a knight in shining armor to save her.

Part of it, he knows, is guilt. He knows Regina must have a serious reason to need to be escorting. That much had been clear when he met her that night. Not that he judges those who made their money that way, but Regina is intelligent, refined, well-educated, without signs of any drug habit, and he had known that night, that there was a story there, a sad terrible tragedy that had landed her in that position beyond her control.

And he should have stopped himself, shouldn't have taken advantage, should have left her with the money that she so obviously needed, shouldn't have expected anything in return other than the meal and conversation and connection they shared. Should have done anything that night instead of giving into his lust and loneliness but he had failed.

He had failed and he used her and her services full well knowing it wasn't something she enjoyed, wasn't something she wanted, and god, may not even be her choice.

He had to know whether or not it was it her choice.

He still wasn't sure how escorting fit into this abusive ex-husband dilemma, but suddenly _one_ thing made sense - the reason why she was afraid to involve the police in matters involving Leopold Blanchard. The Blanchards basically run this city. He isn't sure who Leopold was, but the name is certainly familiar. One of his relatives – maybe a brother? Was the chief of police. A Blanchard owns the city's entire baseball franchise. One of them - either a cousin, or a nephew, is currently the mayor.

The Blanchards are rich, powerful, political, and despite the whispers of scandal…beloved.

Despite the rumors of the family being tied to organized crime, despite the prevalence of shoddy coverups from all things from insider trading to drunk driving accidents to backroom deals and promises of political influence...despite all that, people love the Blanchards. They are great politicians, wealthy business men, love the spotlight, seem to truly care about the individuals they represent.

But regardless of what his family was, what was it that Leopold Blanchard did? Robin couldn't remember. He did something, he—

"Leo was a congressman, for two terms. But now he's the CEO of Blanchard Publishing," Regina says with a cough, answering the question that was on his lips. It was as if she read his mind. "But it's more than that, his family – they also –"

"I know, I know who the Blanchards are, Regina, of course I do. I just didn't know they were _this_ corrupt."

"You need to leave.” That’s all she says,pronouncing each syllable as a plea. She sounds scared and defeated, not angry and demanding. And it's good she's not demanding he leave, because right now he'd rather cut off his own arm than leave her alone like this.

"I'm not going to…" He starts speaking emphatically until he notices how she tenses up at his declaration. He curses himself silently because of course, you don't steadfastly refuse to leave when a woman has been clearly dealing with men invading her space for far too long. He starts over again. "Just let me stay until I know you're safe and I know he's not coming back. Please."

He's surprised to see her nod slightly, and she walks towards the kitchen table. "Might as well pour some coffee in these" she mutters, pointing to the cups, and gives him a thin smile.

She starts the coffee pot and tells him she's going to check on Henry, that it'll just be a minute, and that she knows they need to talk.

Before she goes up the stairs to face her son she looks in the mirror in the hallway for a second, shakes herself a few times, smooths her hair into place, throws her shoulders back, her jaw up. It's an amazing transformation, almost as if she has morphed into a completely different person. Gone is the vulnerability from her eyes, the shivering and shaking woman he had seen minutes before, and in her place is a strong, confident, no-nonsense woman.

Not just a woman, a mother. And that mask, that transformation, he knows it's not for his benefit.

It's for Henry's.

She's a mystery, Regina and it's not just her story – that's certainly a mystery he may never fully understand – it's _her_ – how she acts, how she can be so strong, so resilient, yet have these moments of pure vulnerability he would swear (based on her reaction) that the rest of the world doesn't get to see – so why has he seen it? He's practically a stranger, and a man she doesn't like very much at this point, but he's seen this side of her still.

When she comes back downstairs she's not wearing that smile anymore, but the mask is still up, the air of self-assuredness thick around her.

"Henry's playing video games. His friend's mom is picking him up and taking him to practice and then dinner in a bit. He's okay. A bit shaken, but still wants to play baseball."

She sits down and lets out a whoosh of breath. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions and feel owed to an explanation."

He starts to say she owes her nothing, but she waves a hand in the air to stop him.

"First, I assure you that Gold has a strict policy of keeping personal affairs out of business. And if he found out about any of this—”

"You don't have to worry about that," he tries to speak to her gently, to ease her fears. But instead the words come out slightly panicked and defensive. He cringes when he sees her frown at his tone. Another way he's failed her.

He starts again, his voice more even, pouring everything he feels into the words. "I promise, Regina. I'm not going to hurt you or use this information against you. I won't tell a soul. Please understand."

She nods, but still looks unsure. And then her head is in her hands, fingers rubbing at her temples. "This is going to sound… odd. Do you mind terribly if you just stayed and we talked about something else for a bit? Some small talk would go a long way in making me feel normal."

He agrees immediately, and when she adds, _I mean, you don't have to stay if you have to get back to something_ he shakes his head, assures her this is where he wants to be, and if talking about the weather would help at all, he'd gladly offer his conversational services. It's very nearly the least he could do.

So he shifts the conversation to the weather, which leads to a discussion of illnesses that almost gets too heavy, but before he knows it they were talking about vacations with their children, and suddenly there's light teasing about Regina's finicky packing rituals, and they get on so easily, the two of them, even with the heavy subjects they are ignoring looming over their heads.

He watches her mood lighten, little by little, as she falls into a banter with him, and god, it's a sight to see the oppressive weight of the day gradually falling off her shoulders as they make…well, not small talk. As they get to know each other better, talk about _real_ things, and hopefully, enjoy each other's company (he enjoys hers).

When he tells her a story of Roland's first trip to the beach, he reenacts his son's reaction to the waves, and she _laughs,_ it's an uncontrollable thing, the laugh, and it's loud and sweet and beautiful and he wishes she always looked as light and carefree as she does in that moment.

He again silently curses himself for having ever hired her, and as much as it pains him, and for the first time he completely regrets that wonderful night he had with her.

Because it's very likely had he not hired her, he'd have gotten to know her better today. She'd trust him more, and perhaps he'd be sitting across from her, just like this, and maybe he'd be having these warm feelings over someone he could, at least, share a friendship with. If not something more.

He didn't know he had wanted that. He thought he was done, the memories of his wife were enough, more than enough to last the rest of his lifetime. In almost four years he had never felt a connection with anyone new except for Regina.

And it was fitting, wasn't it, that this was the one person who was off-limits, because he had done it, he had hired her. She was out of reach, would never be able to respect him, or trust him, and it was his own damn fault.

 

.::.

 

When she had asked Robin to stay, it had been because she knew she had to talk to him about this. Make sure he was on the same page – he wasn't going to play hero and try to call the police. Wasn't going to mention it to anyone who would do the same – wasn't going to let Gold catch wind of their little after-work excursion.

She had known this meant she had to share a certain amount of what her life had become, but that wasn't a story she liked to share with anyone, really. Mal knows it all, mostly because circumstances made it such that Mal couldn't help but find out, and Mal would never judge her.

Gold, he probably knows more than he let on. He told her he knew who her ex-husband was, so casually, with a raised eyebrow during her first week working with him. Told her she needed to make sure her homelife would not interfere with her job, or she'd be out.

At first, she spent so much time wondering why Gold had hired her at all, if he seemed so worried about her husband's influence tainting her work life. But she gave up on trying to figure Gold out. Afterall, he hired her for a decent job with decent pay in spite of the fact she was hated by a powerful political family. At a PR firm, of all places.

If she lost this job, she knew her ex-husband could make it hard for her to find a new one. The economy was already tough.

She needed this job, so she needed to make sure Robin never gave Gold a reason to fire her.

And so she'd practically do anything to keep Robin silent.

Maybe offering just a little of her backstory will be enough to guilt trip him into keeping the events of today quiet. If nothing else, he does look truly guilty for partaking in her services – and though he needn't (it's not his fault and he did nothing to make the evening unenjoyable on her end), perhaps she can use that guilt to her advantage.

She tries to start telling him the story but her throat catches. She's too raw, too emotionally worked up at the thought of losing Henry, at the thought of Leo hurting her son…it's just, not a good time.

So she asks for the small talk, almost sure he'll refuse and demand to know what is going on instead. But he takes her up on it.

"Unusually sunny for this time of year, isn't it?"

She smirks, and the ridiculous nature of their position falls on her. They just had quite the day, and now here they are, not talking about it, or anything other than the fact the sun is out.

"To be quite honest I'm not normally a fan of intense sunshine." She admits, almost sure the conversation is going to take a dull, awkward tone. Who can carry a conversation about the weather that doesn't sound like shit?

"Undoubtedly because it rivals your sunny disposition," he says immediately with a smirk. and she bites her lip and smiles. The banter was unexpected.

"I get headaches," she explains, "Migraines. Not all the time, but… sometimes." He doesn't need to know it's when she's excessively stressed, because then he's going to realize she's due for one, though oddly she doesn't feel that dull tingle in the back of her head yet, so perhaps she's lucky.

"Ah" he says, nodding as if he understands all too well. "Marian had them too. Awful things. Despite them, she wanted to go to the beach our first year with Roland so badly, even though…"

Regina's done the math. She knows that based on Roland's age, and the amount of time Marian's been gone, that Marian probably only had one year, maybe less, with her son. The memory can't be entirely pleasant, and she wants to reach out and grab his arm, squeeze it, tell him she knows about heartbreak, tell him she knows, except her son, her son never even got to meet his father.

The impulse to share, to open up, is new, and unexpected. But she still has her wits about her, and her resistance to following through with the impulse is strong.

"I hate packing for the beach," she says in response, a desperate attempt to lighten the mood. He laughs, and she launches into her routine for packing. He doesn't applaud her organization skills, or even compliment them. He teases her about it, asks if she's been checked for some sort of obsessive disorder. She likes it – likes how he doesn't kiss her ass, how he doesn't take her shit, how he doesn't pity her and tell her she's right just because he saw her vulnerable and shaking a moment ago.

The conversation flows so easily, so naturally, that she's able to relax slightly from the stress of the day, feels tension gradually slipping away under the calm silly banter they are exchanging.

He's cute. Not just his looks, but his attitude, the way he holds himself, those little expressions he makes…

He's a good man.

She's more convinced of that than ever.

Loves his family. When he brings up Marian he still had that longing, wistful look, and she knew he was a loyal husband and man to her. That's when it hits her - the revelation that told her that her gut feeling wasn't wrong. He's a _good_ man.

He just lost himself in grief and wasn't sure how to put the pieces of his life back together again. He throws in a _I love her so much_ when reciting a memory of their beach trip, and she almost winces at how sweet he is, how devoted he was to her. There have been no serious relationships since Marian for him, and he still talks about her as if she were alive and they were currently still married.

That's how much respect he has for her and the love they shared (or share? Even from beyond the grave?). It's admirable, much more admirable than the despicable way she defiled Daniel and the love they shared. The memory floods over her, guilt consuming her in a heavy wave.

 

.:*:.

_Daniel is dead._

_It had all happened so fast, One day, he was alive and well, assuring her that she didn't need her parents, her family, his family, or anyone, that they would make it, that he would graduate with his masters and accept a lucrative job at Blanchard Publishing. He'd take care of them. He had promised her that._

_But the next moment she was being called into the hospital, an emergency contact. At the hospital there was a woman who clung to her who kept saying "this is the fiancé", as a dance of nurses and doctors introduced themselves, spouting out medical jargon in solemn tones, and the soft undercurrent of every conversation clear – '"Your Daniel is going to die."_

_After a failed attempt to repair a collapsed, perforated lung, they had come to speak, to tell her, crush her heart and soul at once._

_He loved her. She had never felt love like that before. Certainly not from her mother, who had only weeks ago told her she was no longer welcome in her childhood home. Not from her father, who was too devoted to his wife, or too afraid of her - to express anything other than a unified stance with Cora._

_So she never felt a sort of unconditional, true love. A selfless love. And that's what she had with Daniel, and why, oh why, did fate decide to give that to her for the first time, only to rip it from her just as quickly and cruelly?_

_Four days later she shows up at Daniel's little office, a makeshift little thing in a dark hallway in the university's english department building. She remembers the students who would come and visit him during office hours, asking all sort of questions to which her Daniel always seemed to have the answer._

_He has loved all his classes, but L. Blanchard's Twentieth Century American Literature had been his favorite, and he had loved how people would react discovering they liked, truly enjoyed, the works of Irving or Vonnegut, or even Knowles._

_Because literature, great literature, didn't have to be written in Old English. It didn't have to be stuffy. It could be relatable and modern and still be beautiful. That's what he had wanted his students to know. He wanted them to appreciate what the modern minds have given us, so that we knew beauty wasn't dying in this world and that wonderful people were contributing great works every day._

_He was certainly one of those wonderful people. And he had so much more to contribute to this world._

_But he was gone, leaving Regina alone to clean out his office before his parents flew in, set on removing anything from the office his conservative, religious parents wouldn't want to see._

_She also needs to spend time in this office, where he had spent his time, just to feel the memory of him, to take in the faint smell of his aftershave still lingering in the room, see the reading glasses still on the desk, the spare jacket on the back of his chair, and god, he was everywhere in the room, and his presence both comforts her and overwhelms her. Before she knew it she is sitting on the floor wearing his jacket reading over comments he had left on papers he had graded, and she is sobbing, for some reason. Every helpful suggestion, every criticism, even the simple "SEE ME" on a particularly awful paper was read in Daniel's voice, as she pictured his expressions as he wrote every note._

_Daniel had a plan for his life, and would have done so much good for this world. Nothing in life made sense, not when fate had ripped him from her, taken him from a world that could have used a good man like him._

_While the drunk driver who hit him walked away without one broken bone._

_She is here, sprawled out, wetting term papers with her own tears, when_ he _enters the room, his footsteps heavy and quick, the room shaking with the force of his walk._

_A stern voice calls out "Excuse me, how did you get in here? No one is supposed to be in the building at this hour—oh!"_

_His voice starts off authoritative and angry, but ends in what sounds like pure surprise._

_Regina looks up from the paper she was reading. She recognized the man almost immediately. Daniel's boss. An adjunct professor who mostly left the teaching (and grading) up to Daniel._

" _Professor Blanchard, I'm so sorry, It's just –"_

" _Are you Regina?" His voice is soft, his eyes, so kind._

_She nods her head before letting out a sob._

" _Oh my dear sweet girl, I am so so sorry for your loss. Daniel had told me so much about you…"_

" _He did?" Daniel had never told her how much he shared with his boss. She knew the professor had taken a shine to Daniel, knew that he his job at Blanchard Publishing had an awful lot to do with the glowing recommendation from the CEO's nephew himself… but he had never shared the fact they spoke about personal topics._

_Regina stands on unsteady feet, shaky, feeling as if she might tip over, still overwhelmed from grief. Her hand flies protectively to her stomach._

" _He told me." He explains lightly. "About everything. About the baby. And about the fact there's no family support."_

_Her eyes grow wide._

To this day, she does not know why Daniel had shared this with him. It was so private, so unlike him, and she thinks Daniel must have trusted Leo a great deal. He was fooled too, it seems.

" _He was a good man," Leo presses on. "One of the best. And my dear, I want to help you. I want to help you both. It's what he would have wanted."_

_She shakes her head, refusing his help, wondering what he could do, anyway, but he does not relent on his seemingly selfless offer._

" _Please, my dear. Let me help."_

She was a naïve, heartbroken fool who still had hope and faith that men were good and motives pure. So she stayed and listened. It was the first choice in many choices that sealed her current fate.

_.:*:._

 

Her thoughts are interrupted when a loud horn honks outside. It's Henry's ride, his friend Sam's mom is driving them to and from practice, has offered to take them to pizza afterwards. She excuses herself, and gives Henry money for dinner, and sends him off.

Henry whispers _Are you sure you're okay?_ into her chest as he hugs her, and it almost kills her.

He's too young to be asking that of his mother.

"I'm fine baby, everything's fine."

"I'm not a baby anymore!" he responds, angrily, his head held high, chin jutting out, posture suddenly stiff, as if willing his body to grow taller in protest at the term. He doesn't like that word, especially these days, but he's never going to stop being her baby. But it kills her that he thinks he suddenly has to be her protector. So maybe she should appease him.

"I know, sweetheart. I know." He stares at her, and she realized he asked her a question. "I'm fine, I'm going to be just fine. "

Henry nods and runs out the door to catch his ride.

A pang of guilt hits her as she watches him climb into the back seat, safe and sound. She's not the only one with a son, after all. And she's kept Robin quite long. He probably needs to pick Roland up from daycare.

"Robin, do you need to get back to your son?" It comes off a bit sheepish, she's embarrassed she hadn't yet considered that. But he's shaking his head, explaining a friend has already got him for the night, and that he's free – that he _wants_ to be here.

She tells him he should go and see him but Robin won't hear it, says he would rather stay here awhile, if it's okay with her. And it is. She still needs to talk to him.

"Are you okay?" He finally asks, and when she says yes automatically, he looks her in the eyes and says, "Truly, though?"

Something in her head makes her answer honestly. She shakes her head no in resignation. "I will be, though," she offers, as an afterthought. When he looks back at her with pleading eyes she groans.

This is it. They need to talk now. She takes a deep breath. "I know I owe you an explanation for what must be an incredibly confusing night. But it's much more complicated than you think."

He looks doubtful. Shrugs in response, then offers her a look asking her to carry on with the story. Says so much with his eyes, his kind, focused eyes. He's not judging, not forcing her to tell her story. And to be honest, she wants to tell him, she wants to talk about it. So here it goes.

 

.::.

 

He sees her body tense, her hand grasping tightly around the long-empty coffee mug on the table. He knows what she's about to share is difficult to her. He should tell her she has no obligation to tell him. Should, but won't. Because he truly wants to know. If there's something he can do… he should…

She stutters into an explanation quickly, a deep breath before she launches into a monologue, looking down at the table the whole time.

"I left him when Henry was three. He was… he could see things I didn't want him to see at that age, it just—I just didn't want him witness to anything he could remember. So I left Leo. He vowed to make my life a living hell if I ever left him." She smiles bitterly, still not meeting his eyes. "He didn't lie about that." She pauses and takes a deep breath in and out, seemingly composing herself.

"Sometimes people ask me how I can do…what I do. But I'd gladly sell myself on a street corner for loose change if it meant I could take back a day of that marriage." She shivers. "I've never felt cheaper, more used, more disposable, in all my life."

The words crush him, and he gives her _that_ look, the look she's repeatedly asked him not to give her, the apologetic look she thinks is a look of pity. She shoots him a _don't you dare_ look and his face turns sheepish.

"Have you ever tried the police?" He asks, pushing aside the need to offer words of comfort, or to tell her how much he already admires her.

There's a pause, a beat where he thinks she might tell him the whole story and then she just adds "Yes, I've tried calling the police. It's backfired. I'll get hauled in for false reports, or they will say they smell alcohol on my breath and write up a report about me being intoxicated in public."

"You have custody, thank god," he can't help but saying, because that's the most curious of parts. Is it because he's not Henry's father?

"Originally we had shared custody. He doesn't care for Henry, but it was something he could take from me, so he took it."

"Did he…adopt, Henry?" He knows he's on shaky ground, but it's curious, how a man who isn't Henry's father would feel entitled to custody with him.

"Oh god, that was a mistake. I was just so upset I..." She's rubbing either side of her temples, as if to lull herself out of a bad memory. "I shouldn't have told you that he's not Henry's father. He is, at least on paper. But he's not…I mean, biologically, he's not. No one is supposed to know that, though. If you tell people I'll deny it. And in terms of being a father figure, a loving, supportive father, well, he's not that either. But those are not reasons he lost custody. He lost custody because he has a temper. And something happened that other people saw and reported. And it was on a security camera."

He wants to push and ask more, when she looks at him, his questions must show all over his face because she adds "That's really all I want to say about _that_. The point is, that with all that evidence, he didn't get custody. And he's been trying to get it back ever since, but I keep getting lucky. So far."

"I can be a witness," he offers, "to what happened today. He was trespassing." Robin grabs her hand from across the table before thinking better of it. She doesn't pull away, but her hand stays stiff in his, "He was trying to break into your house," he recounts, staring into her eyes, "he was threatening you. I saw it all."

"You won't get involved in this." Regina says firmly. "I made a bad choice years ago, and I am paying for it. I pay for my own mistakes. No one else pays for me."

He's angry, more angry than he should be, because he knows she's rational and strong, should know better than to blame herself or thinks she's owed this situation due to any amount of karma.

"I don't know what mistake you've made, but you can't actually believe you deserve to pay for it like _this!"_ From what little he can see, she's not one for self-loathing or self-torture, and he thinks he must get through to him.

"I made a terrible mistake." She reiterates, her hands crossed in front of her, her eyes looking down, avoiding his gaze. "You have a son. You don't need to get involved in this."

"But I already am," He presses, softly, and when she looks up at him she rolls her eyes a bit but stays silent, he presses, "I can't just leave you alone to deal with this."

"Why not?" she asked bluntly. "You barely know me."

She is right. He has no business feeling the way he does. And no explanation for the emotional swelling up in his chest, squeezing at his heart. It’s inexplicable. She is right; he barely knows her. So he just shrugs.

"I know you well enough to know you're a good person," he said, "and to know that you've been through far too much."

"You don't know that I'm a good person," she presses, and she looks terribly guilty about something. She shouldn't.

"I do." He says again, "I'm a good judge of character, not to brag or anything, and I must say, and I have faith in my assessment in these things."

For a second he thinks he's touched her, got through to her, conveyed his feelings without sounding like a creep or a lovesick teenager. But then her walls are up again, posture rigid, face blank and expressionless.

"Gold is going to press you about me. And if you do care about me, you'll not tell him any of this. I was thinking we could say we…have a history. Maybe a one night stand. And that's why we didn't want to share the nature of our relationship in front of Ms. Bleu."

He's not sure what to say, clearly she only wants to save her professional career and has no interest in letting him in her life, so he mutters in return "Sure, whatever you need."

She sighs and rolls her eyes. "What I need is my job. I need to support my son, and I need to get out of this nightmare. And I need you to not be a part of it."

He can tell she's stressed, nervous, she's scratching her arms as if the conversation itself has given her hives, and he feels guilty over so much at once. He shouldn't ask her any more, it's clear he's making her uncomfortable, and yet he needs to know, needs to know exactly how much he has to atone for.

"Did he, does that man, does he make you…" He coughs, and she stares at him as if she has no idea where he's going with this and when did this become so hard? "Your, uh, second job" he starts, "Is that something he has made you—"

"No" she says, forcefully, "No, he doesn't know about that."

It shouldn't make him relieved, but he is, the thought of any of his money funding the man who just made such a strong woman look so scared (even if only for a second) has him disgusted, picturing her working for someone, offering herself for him and others against her will at the hands of a man like that…

"I don't know what he'd do if he ever found out." She said nervously, looking at her hands, almost talking to herself. "Wouldn't expose me, that would cause too much of a scandal, but he'd find some way to…" she looks at his face, and something she saw in him must stop his train of thought, so she stops. "Sorry, I'm rambling."

He tells her it's nothing, that nothing she could do or say is wrong right now, and she smiles faintly in return.

"I don't have any sort of drug habit, and no one is forcing me into prostitution." Regina says bluntly, if out of nowhere.

He nods, slowly.

Regina sighs, looks down. "I just, I wanted you to know that, okay?"

"I know you're not ready to tell me" he says slowly, "And I have no right to ask. But still…"

"I know" she interrupts, "You want to know why I'm doing it. But I really can't tell you."

He sighs, and looks at her, another moment he knows she doesn't let people see often – a vulnerable, uneasy moment. He wants to wrap her in his arms, but he can't. She wouldn't accept his touch, and definitely wouldn't accept his comfort.

He takes a breath in, observing her for a second. "You're shaking," he says softly, and then he sees her try to straighten herself, stop the shaking.

"It's cold in here." She offers the excuse weakly, as if she knows he won't believe it. She's right.

Because, among other reasons, it's not cold at all.

What could settle her a bit? His mind goes to his comfort techniques - food, for one, and they skipped lunch so that might be good. He could make her an omelette, order a pizza...there was TV. An old movie sometimes help...he wants to offer her something…

"I have a favor to ask you." His thoughts interrupted by her slightly shaky voice. She doesn't meet his eyes when she says it, focuses on the mug that once held coffee in it, her fingers dancing and playing around it.

"Name it" he quickly replies.

"I um, need to get back to my car before Henry comes home. Do you think you could give me a ride?"

He happily accepts, with a teasing, "Should we go back to my car the same way we came?" and she laughs nervously and says no, they can take a walk around the block to get to the car.

She runs upstairs to change into something more comfortable, and comes back in worn jeans and flats, a plaid button down shirt half buttoned to reveal a black tank top underneath. She had gotten dressed hurriedly, her hair is a bit out of place from the fast pace of the change, but the outfit just works. She's effortlessly beautiful, and he wishes he wasn’t constantly being reminded of this.

As they walk to his car there a bit of a chill to the air, as the sun has gone down a bit, and when he sees her shiver a bit at the wind, his arm goes up to wrap around her before he stops himself.

He can't touch her like that anymore. Even if he wants to.

The walk reminds him of that night, the walk from the restaurant to the hotel, but things are different now, so different. Except the warm feelings he has for her, and let's face it, the attraction and desire for her, those are the same. Has only intensified.

But she's not being paid to pretend to be interested in him, so she's no longer leaning into his side as she walks, no longer wrapping her hands around his, threading her fingers with his. Things have changed now.

She….does she hate him? She has a right to, after all, he's _literally_ treated her like a whore, and it doesn't matter that she held herself out to be one, he took her up on it, and it's fair she read into it and see him as someone who doesn't have the respect or appreciation for her as one should.

Still, she hasn't acted disgusted by him, has no trouble talking to him and meeting his eyes. She hasn't said anything hateful to him.

He wonders if she's tolerating him because she's scared to lose her job, placating him the best she can.

But then he thinks, no, the conversation they had when she requested small talk, it seemed too real. She might not like him much, but he thinks he's kept her from outright hating him.

Babysteps.

He opens the car door for her, and she smiles and says thank you sweetly. She looks almost shy now, like she's embarrassed herself (she hasn't). She bites her bottom lip, and it's adorable and ungodly sexy at the same time. He closes his eyes shut tight for a second while he wills his brain to cooperate and let go of those feelings, because now is NOT the time.

It is absolutely not the time to think about how much he likes her, how much he would have liked to explore the attraction he has – not just to her physically, but to the chemistry he feels when he's around her. It's not to be. And not for the first time he wonders if he could have had this, if only he had a crisis of conscious a few weeks ago and resisted making that appointment.

"Is something wrong?" she asks, noticing his grimace. She's seated in the car now and is looking up at him.

"Just remembering what an utter arse I am." He says, then quickly shuts the door. Turns away from her, doesn't want to see how she reacted to that. Why constantly remind her that he's the type of guy who frequents prostitutes? As if she doesn't have enough on her mind.

When he rounds the car to the driver's side he takes a deep breath and climbs in, determined to find something on the radio to distract them both from his word vomit. But before he's even turned the keys in the ignition she puts a hand on his upper arm. It's an unexpected touch, given how distant she's been the whole day, and it startles him completely.

"Hey,” her voice comes out just above a whisper, "Look at me."

He turns to her, and he's sure he looks a mess. He's angry at himself for hiring her. Angry at himself for bringing it up. Angry that he can't make any of it right. But most of all, he's angry that instead of focusing completely on comforting or making his indiscretion up to her, a part of him is still replaying that night, still reminding him of how she felt and tasted and moved. And that part will not shut up.

She's rubbing his arm gently. It's supposed to be soothing, but it's not, and he hates himself for the not-so-innocent reaction he's having to her being so close. She really shouldn't rub his arm like that. Doesn't she know how long it's been since a woman touched him like that?

"You're a good man," she says her eyes directly staring into his. He rolls his eyes and lets out a puff of air. "I mean it. And, if you don't judge me for being an escort, I won't judge you for hiring me. " Her hand goes from his arm to his hand, the one still wrapped around the keys in the ignition. She takes her hand in his and squeezes it, "Do you think we can do that?"

He nods, takes a breath in. "I've never judged–"

She interrupts him before he can finish. "I know. But I'm not going to hold this against you. If I ever had before, I don't, not after everything that's happened today. Alright?"

He's grateful for the sincerity and conviction in her voice, and he nods, happy to believe she's ready to move on.

He drives her back to her office, then.

The conversation goes silent, instead they are listening to the music on the radio, and oddly, they have similar tastes, and that's another punch in the gut too, isn't it?

"Thank you." She finally says, "I'm sure you didn't expect your day to involve scaling fences and setting the table for a pretend tea party." She smiles bitterly.

He's conflicted. It's been an awful day for her – should be an awful day for him too, but somehow, the day hasn't been awful. He got to see her, to know her just a little bit better, and he felt alive.

"It's not what I expected," he settles on, "but I must admit, I could use a little excitement every now and then. I miss it."

She laughs. "Miss it? You do this often?"

"Prior to working with Mulan, I had a much different job," he explains.

"What did you do before that? I don't think it came up that night."

Robin smiles, offers her a wink. "It didn't. The job was a bit silly. But I loved it, completely unrelated to what I went to school for but I had a natural talent for it. That's why I stayed with it even though the pay was shit. But then, Marian was pregnant, and it was time to move on…" He has her interest, he realizes, when he steals a glance from the road to her in the passenger seat. She's probably trying to guess already. He considers asking her to guess, but they aren't kids, they're too old for a guessing game.

"I was a private investigator."

She laughs at that, immediately saying _sorry_ at the loud snort that comes out of her mouth, and he shakes his head, asks _what?_

"I'm picturing you in 1950s style detective gear and…"

"I was a very modern type of investigator. I had all the gadgets. Still, gadgets don't help with everything. You need to know how to do things like, quickly scale a six foot fence."

He smirks at her, and she smirks back, and good, she's reached a point where she can at least laugh about it.

He tells her about one of his cases, most of them were women hiring him to find evidence of spouses cheating, but there was one where the man was not cheating on the woman, he was sneaking off to dress as Diana Ross and sing in a club at night, and he was fabulous. He tells the story, earning a few laughs from Regina.

As he approaches the garage where her car is parked, she sighs deeply, and he can feel her eyes on him. He's already dreading a goodbye.

"Thank you again," she pauses, waits for him to meet her eyes. He's parked now, all set to drop her off by her car and leave her life for god knows how long. "Today was…tough. I'm not used to handling days like this with anyone else. Having you just to talk to about nonsense, it helped. More than you know."

He didn't realize how much he needed to feel useful until she said that, he's relieved and feels a bit lighter, at least he could do _something_ for her.

"I am glad I could help in any way. And if you need anything else…I'm here. Truly, Regina."

Her hand is hovering on the handle of the car door, and then her expression changes.

"Shit, Robin," she draws her hand to her forehead, wincing, "We still have to work on that new client intake form. I should have used our time doing that instead of making you engage in small talk..."

"It's fine," Robin says quickly, desperate for another day with her, "Tell Gold I had an emergency come up and we had to cut the meeting short. We can make it up some other time?"

She nods, "I'll… check my schedule."

She is rooting around in her purse for something, then picks out a card holder. Opens it, hands him her card.

"My direct dial and uh, professional email. We'll meet up sometime this week?"

He nods, unable to hide the broad smile on his face, because he gets to see her again. If only one more time.

Better than nothing.

"Of course."

There's a moment where she just smiles back, looking into his eyes, and then she chuckles, shakes her head, and opens the car door.

"Goodnight, Robin."


	5. Chapter 5

She has been dreading walking into work since the moment her head hit the pillow last night.

God, she doesn't want to deal with the questions in store for her – why she didn't return to the office after the late lunch, where the client intake report was, and god, least of all, the questions as to how exactly she knew Robin.

No, she did not feel up to this at all, not with the events of last night. Not when Henry had a nightmare for the first time in months. It was hard now, parenting a boy Henry's age. At eight years old he was truly just a child, a child who liked comic books and cartoons and cookies. A child who enjoyed make believe games and scavenger hunts, enjoyed building forts and having snowball fights.

But lately Henry had been protesting his age, refusing to give into his natural affections for childish enjoyment. It was frustrating as hell, for Regina to watch him try so desperately to act older, when she wanted to shake him and tell him to enjoy his youth. But nothing frustrated her more than the fact that Henry wouldn't allow himself the simple, common experience of a child having a nightmare. Wouldn't let himself accept his mother's offer and crawl into his Regina's bed, let himself be hugged and held all night.

So when he woke, startled and screaming, he only shortly accepted his mother's embrace and reassurances, and then he came to his senses, telling her he was fine, that dreams couldn't hurt you, that he knew this. And that he did not, under any circumstances, need to sleep with his "mommy" in bed like a "baby".

But he was too scared to go back to sleep on his own, and the only way he was able to let himself sleep with his mother was deciding (at Regina's agreement) that _she_ needed him in bed with her, because his nightmare had startled and scared _her._

Part of her knew Henry's desire to grow up had to do with his sudden interest in protecting his mother. She isn't sure why he suddenly felt she needed protecting - she hoped it wasn't because he had seen some things he shouldn't have as a child, memories that may have been repressed that are now coming back to surface. Hoped it wasn't because he picked up that she did something dangerous with her spare time and was in need of saving. No, she hoped Henry's desire to protect her simply stemmed from the fact that he was a boy who believed he was destined to be a hero like the ones in his comic books and fairy tales and was looking for someone (anyone) to save. Even his mother.

For despite his attempts to act as an adult, Henry was an unashamed believer in magic, and Santa, and superheroes, and most of all, he believed in goodness. She loved that about Henry - loved that Leopold hadn't taken away Henry's rosy outlook on the world and on strangers. He knew that his step-father (as they secretly called him) was a bad man, but he still believed most people were good, and that good would win.

And so now Henry was suffering the growing pains of trying to mix his childish beliefs with his desire to take on responsibilities of adults, and it was just... exhausting. She hopes her little boy would give up soon and just let himself be a boy.

She was absorbed in thoughts and worries of Henry when the phone at the office rang. She cringed, knowing what this was about.

"Mr. Gold wishes to speak with you in his office," the shrill voice says into the phone.

Right. This is happening now then.

She collected her thoughts, reminded herself to stay calm, but she's sleep deprived and groggy, and frankly, this isn't the best time for an interrogation.

She puts on her best nonchalant face when she enters Mr. Gold's office, as if she hasn't the foggiest idea what he'd want to talk to her about.

"Come in, Ms. Mills. Do you have the assessment?"

"Mr. Locksley had an emergency and I'm afraid we were unable to complete it." Regina is careful to make eye contact, speaking slowly and precisely. Does not want him to catch her acting uncomfortable when the subject of Robin comes up, even though she's already obviously a wreck after her ex-husband's name was brought up.

"We are making plans to finish later this week."

Gold furrows his brow, does an exaggerated expression of confusion, "His emergency wouldn't have anything to do with the fact you two know each other, would it, now?" he asks, licking his lips.

He's delighting in how uncomfortable he's making her.

But it's what she's dreading to discuss, and now that the subject has come up, she feels she can finally breathe.

Let's get this over with, then.

"No, it had nothing to do with how we know each other."

"As I'm sure you're aware the last thing I want to do is pry into your personal life. But when your personal life involves a client of ours, I'm afraid I wouldn't be good at my job if I didn't ask - how do you know Mr. Locksley?"

She takes a deep breath in, holds it, and breathes out slowly. _You've got this_ she tells herself. "It's not something you need to be concerned about. We had a...romantic evening together after meeting at a bar."

It wasn't exactly untrue, was it?

Gold raised his eyebrows "Just the one night then?" he asked, that smirk ever-present.

"Correct." Regina said with a sigh. "No desire to repeat on either of our parts."

"And how long ago was this?" Gold asked.

It's none of his business. She should tell him to stay out of her personal affairs.

"A good number of months back. I can't remember the date exactly. Just less than a year."

Gold looks as though he's contemplating something, and then nods, focusing on her. "I can imagine he doesn't want _Ms. Bleu_ to know about that, under the circumstances." He says Fran Bleu's formal name in a slightly pompous tone, a subtle reminder of the uptight woman with whom they are dealing.

Regina nods, and then Gold adds, "Ms. Bleu seems to like Mr. Locksley quite a bit. It's good she doesn't know about these circumstances. She told me she is quite pleased with what a devoted husband he is."

Her ears turn beet red, throbbing and burning with a combination of shame, and guilt and anger. _Husband?_ He lied. He lied, and she trusted him, and her gut was wrong, and her instincts were only ever _this_ off when she got involved with Leo.

Was he another Leo? Another convincing liar, another slick manipulator who hides his skill in sweet, heartfelt glances and kind, innocent words?

She was going to kill Robin. Not before she thoroughly punished herself for trusting someone again.

Gold is looking at her waiting for a response, she knows. She tried to keep her face expressionless (oh but she knows that vein is popping out on her forehead, and her jaw is tight) as she says through clenched teeth, "He told me he was widowed."

"Oh he is, from what Fran says, " Gold says with a wave of his hand, and just a hint of a smirk letting her know had intentionally led her to believe Robin was married when they were together. The bastard. She could wring his neck, if she didn't need this job so damn much.

"But the woman does like the fact that he's remained a widower instead of remarrying, like many men his age and stature would do. She seems to think he's a good family man A better image for the company than Ms. Cheng."

Regina snorts. Of course the straight, white man with a family fits Bleu's idea of wholesome better than the foreign, single woman.

"It's Cheng's business," Regina maintains, "And from what I hear she's quite capable."

"Fran has suggested we speak to Mr. Locksley and Ms. Cheng about keeping Ms. Cheng as the founder and majority stockholder of Mushu and appointing Mr. Locksley to CEO, where he could be the face of the company, handle the press releases, meet with the board, woo them, help convince them and the shareholders he's a good fit. Will make the merger easier."

She knows what's coming. Keeps herself from rolling her eyes. This is ridiculous. "Neither Robin nor Mulan will go for it," Regina says firmly, "Robin is proud of Mulan, they are friends, and Mulan is certainly no loose cannon."

"Mr. Locksley - or, as you call him, _Robin,_ won't want a spot on the board of a Fortune 500 Company?" Gold says, a smile on his face, "My dear, you may see good in him, but he's a man and this is an opportunity for power. Perhaps a slight crush is clouding your judgment on this issue?"

She groaned internally, A _crush?_ But Gold was looking at her with pure amusement and she was determined to deny him the satisfaction of letting him know his comment had got to her.

"I'm sure a woman such as yourself has a hard time accepting the unfair ways of the world," His words were blunt, cutting. "But I assure you it's always easier to vet and sell an accomplished white man as an addition to a board of directors than it would be to do so with a dynamic, young, minority… _alternative..._ woman." Mr. Gold pressed, saying so much more with his eyes. "Mr. Locksley can still let Ms. Cheng lead behind the scenes, he'd just be the face and the spot at the table. From what I hear, Ms. Cheng trusts Robin, and seems to appreciate his advice. If we convince him this is for the best, he can convince her. Of this, Fran seems quite certain. Of course, it'll take some maneuvering, and convincing, and I'd like you to handle this. You and Mr. Locksley - _Robin_ \- seem to have a rapport - do you not?"

Regina crinkles her nose, and nodded. She already felt dirty already. But this was her job, after all, a job that paid well, and a job she needed.

"I want this project to be your top priority for now. Unless of course…" Mr. Gold gets up from his desk, walked around to the other side, facing Regina with his back leaning against the desk. "Unless...there's some reason you have for not wanting to be spending time with Robin?"

She bit down the anxiety rising in her, her mouth going dry temporarily at the realization her job now requires her to spend time with Robin in a much different setting than her second job - and for a much longer period of time.

She shakes her head. "We are both professionals. Working together will be no problem."

"Glad to hear it," Mr. Gold says with a devilish smile and a spark in his eyes. "That will be all, Ms. _Blanchard."_

She was halfway out of her seat when she heard the name of her ex husband come out of her boss's mouth. He is an absolute bastard.

"Are we renaming me?" Regina manages to keep her voice level as she sits back down slowly, crossing her legs. Gold feigns innocence and confusion until she adds, "I'm trying to grasp your reason for calling me Ms. Blanchard when you have only ever known me as Ms. Mills."

His lips curl up even further in amusement before he does his best impression of an innocent look. "Ah, a slip of the tongue. My sincere apologies _Ms. Mills_ , I ran into your ex-husband this morning, his name was on my mind."

She knows he's inspecting her for a reaction - one of fear, perhaps, and she tried to school her features to hide the fact that the blood in her veins had rushed ice cold, that her hands would be shaking if she hadn't folded them into her lap, willing them to stay still.

"And what did my ex-husband want?" she asks, her voice as steady as she could make it.

"As you know, what I discuss with clients or potential clients is confidential," Mr. Gold says with a shrug.

Regina raised an eyebrow. "Leopold Blanchard is now a client?"

"Didn't say that, I said clients _or potential clients._ " Gold reminds, "And no, it does not appear he will be a client. Not too long after you were hired he came to speak with me about potentially using our services. But he felt quite certain he could only be a client if I fired you, dearie. And as I informed him this morning, my position on that hasn't changed."

She looked up at Gold in surprise. She hadn't ever considered that Leopold would try to get her fired - not this obviously. But perhaps more surprising was that it hadn't worked. Gold had made clear he did not have any personal attachment to her, and despite entrusting her with large accounts and giving her a fair amount of freedom, she never got the feeling that he appreciated her work.

"Don't look at me like that, Ms. Mills," Gold went on, "this has nothing to do with my value of you as an employee or a person. This has everything to do with the fact that I don't let people bribe me or manipulate me. Certainly not by only offering me _business_ if I do their bidding. Those are not deals I will ever make."

Regina lets go of the breath she'd held in slowly. She clears her throat a bit and manages to get out "Thank you, just the same."

"It was no favor to you, dearie," Mr. Gold says with a wave of his hand. "Please place this situation with Mushu at the top of your priority list."

And with that he nods to the door.

She leaves, her chest tight, breath constricted, a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach, adn the familiar sting to her eyes begging her to let go and give into the feeling. Telling her it's okay to cry when you learn your abusive ex-husband is currently trying to get your fired at the onlly place that had hired you in town. She feels trapped, claustrophobic, even, despite the high vaulted ceilings of the office, despite the floor-to-ceiling windows.

She does her calming breathing techniques. A deep breath in, a deep breath out. Tries to focus on something relaxing.

But it's odd that she finds herself calming when she thinks of Robin. Thinking of him is...better than drowning herself in the feelings of apprehension and uncertainty related to what trick her ex-husband could possibly pull next.

She distracts herself from those more terrifying thoughts with the thought that she will soon have to speak with Robin. Regularly, for quite sometime.

The feeling is...unsettling. But not because she is afraid of him - she isn't , at least not in _that way_ anymore. What is frightening to her is how much she doesn't fear him at all, after everything he knows, after everything he's seen.

She barely knows him. It's certainly too soon to be feeling any sort of kinship or trust in a man - especially a man who was a client of hers. And in both her jobs, her clients aren't exactly trustworthy or honorable people

And yet, here she is, trying to tamp down a panic attack at the thought of her husband having a chat with her boss, and all she can think about is how much it would help to talk to _Robin_ about it.

It makes no sense. He is nothing to her.

But she can't deny that there was an unexpected intimacy during their time together - both the evening they shared together and their time last night. It had been a different type of intimacy yesterday, but just like the evening they shared, she'd found herself revealing far more of her true self than she did with others, and as frightening as it was to open up so much of her life to him, a part of her felt at peace, desiring to open up more to him, share more with him.

She hates that she likes it. Hates that she wants it, hates that she may even _need it_ \- having Robin to talk to about the mess that is her life.

It's probably not because she made a connection to him. That is silly. It is too soon to be thinking things like that, isn't it?

No, it's probably because she's been emotionally starved for a good amount of time, she tells herself. Truthfully, when was the last time anyone truly showed her anything remotely similar to concern for her well being? Who offered her compassion, who even tried to take care of her anymore?

He was one of the few people to find out she spent a considerable amount of her free time fulfilling the sordid needs and vulgar desires of wealthy men. He knows this about her, but he treated her as if she were...on his level. Instead of beneath him. She hadn't expected that.

Frankly, even the circumstances surrounding Daniel's death and her marriage to Leopold had cost her quite a few friends. Her marriage to Leopold had been horrific and abusive but it had also been _lonely,_ and it was the first time she had realized she only truly had herself to rely on in this world.

Nowadays, she has Mal, but it's… different. Mal is so utterly strong, has suffered so much, that Regina feels almost embarrassed to come to her with her problems. When she had been brave enough to do so, Mal had been there with open arms, a soothing _oh, my little one,_ and a calming hand running through her hair, whispering words of comfort, alongside fierce promises to castrate the man who caused her so much fear and worry.

She is a friend and a mother and a teacher to her, she's lucky to have her, wouldn't have been able to survive without her. But Mal has her own problems, and Regina is always careful not to overwhelm her with a load of her own issues.

So she struggles to handle her problems and worries by herself as much as possible. Until now, it had worked - it was bearable. Mostly because hadn't ever known any other way.

Somehow the little (but no doubt impressionable) time they have spent together has her craving a friend, a companion, someone who she can actually just vent to, or draw comfort from. The mere thought of wanting that has her cursing herself for being weak.

She hates the fact she wants to call him right now for reasons entirely unrelated to business.

 

.::.

 

He kept staring at her card, repeating to himself, like a prayer, a well-rehearsed prayer:

_You are not going to call her. Not today._

She had given this to him for a pure business reason. He certainly isn't supposed to use this number to call just to check on her, to ask how she's feeling, to make sure her night had ended uneventfully.

After he'd left her, he drove home, his mind racing reliving she had shared - all she shared with her words, with her eyes, with her actions. He felt the oppressive weight of all of it, his mind distracted even as he spent time with his son, bathed him, read to him, and tucked him in. Oh, he told himself it was the adrenaline, that familiar exhilaration he used to seek when he worked at his old job that kept distracting him. That night he had jumped a fence, basically broke into a woman's own house, had to come up with a convincing lie on the spot, encountered a potentially dangerous man...it was the thrill he thought he would encounter when he got his private investigator license.

Turns out the majority of his cases were boring, but there were a few opportunities where, to catch a picture of someone _in flagrante delicto_ , he had to sneak into an area where he wasn't supposed to be, had to pretend to be a room service waiter or a sneak into a VIP party when he wasn't on the list. He was always careful and avoided getting caught. There was only one time when the job verged on dangerous.

 

..::..

 

_Seven Years Ago_

_At the end of a long day, Robin finds himself content with Marian in their little apartment, feasting on pizza and cheap beer. The couch is old, the leather ripped and worn, but they didn't care, they sit on the floor anyway, pizza on the coffee table, using the cardboard box of the pizza as both coasters and plates. It was an ordinary night, and they were just celebrating the fact they had made it through another week, when there was a knock at their door._

" _Fucking Robin Locksley get your pathetic ass out here, now! Face me!" the voice at the other end of the doo is slurred, fists banging against the wall a-rhythmically._

_Drunk, Robin thinks._

_Marian freezes on the spot. One of her hands is wrapped around a beer bottle, the other just putting down her pizza. Her jaw locks mid-chew, as soon as she had heard the sound of the frantic knocking and yelling._

" _Who is that?" she hisses a second later when she came to life again, and he sees it in her face, the fear, the uncertainty._

_But he knew everything is fine. The man knocking at the door is harmless. And so he tells Marian to go to the bedroom, where she'd feel safer (she is in no danger), and he walks to the door, opening it just a bit, smirking at the man on the other side of the door._

_Mr. Roberts looks horrible. His normally pristine shirt had stains on it, his tie was half undone and askew, his hair was sticking in odd positions. He just looks...frumpy._

" _Mr. Roberts," Robin smiles, "I hear we'll be seeing each other in court not too long," he said, a calm smile on his face._

_Robin had been hired by Mr. Robert's wife to find evidence of an affair. After days of surveillance Robin realized Mr. Roberts did in fact work late hours his wife had mentioned. He left to eat lunch or meet with clients - but everything was on the up and up._

_The man was careful. But Robin saw the way he looked at his secretary as they walked off to their prospective cars one night, and it occurred to Robin that a secretary working until 9 PM is decidedly unusual._

_So he had posed as a client to get access into Mr. Robert's office so he could plant a listening device and tiny camera in there._

_Three hours later, he had a clear shot of the attorney taking his secretary hard against his expensive, polished desk._

_Usually a photo is enough proof to spare everyone the humiliation of a contested divorce proceeding._

_Usually._

_But he received a call from Mrs. Roberts, panicked, telling her that her husband told her the picture was doctored, and that he would hunt down and kill that man who gave her such an image._

_Robin rolled his eyes, these threats happen all the time._

_If he was contesting the adultery, he informed Mrs. Roberts he'd have no trouble testifying in court._

_It seemed that now, Mr. Roberts was trying to scare him out of that court appearance._

" _You." He bellows, pointing a finger, looking at him, "You god damned asshole, you have no right to enter my office under false pretenses to instal security footage and to…" he hiccups, then grimaces, looking like he is about to vomit right in the hallway when he continues, pushing at the door, trying to get in. Robin pushed back._

"It' _s illegal!" he cries, "I'll sue you for everything you're worth."_

_He has a point. Wiretapping is illegal._

" _Who's to say how I found out about your affair?" Robin asks. "Your office window was open, and I'm free to take pictures of what I like when things are visible to the public."_

_It is a bluff, but a good one. The man is outraged, seeming to buying it. Robin had already cleaned up the surveillance equipment, having bribed the cleaning staff to dispose of it. He is safe._

_This man can’t prove anything._

" _If you show up to court to testify about my affair, I swear you will regret it,” he slurs, pushing his way into Robin's apartment._

" _And how will you make me regret it?"_

" _I'll make it so you never work in this town again. Or I'll kill you. I'll kill you, I'll kill your wife, I'll—“_

" _That's quite enough," Robin says, pushing him out of his apartment. The man was unsteady on his feet, easy to push quickly. Robin deadbolts the door behind him, and turns to find a terrified Marian behind him._

" _It's okay, darling," he assures with a lopsided smile. "Just a drunk."_

" _No Robin, it's not okay." She shakes her head, tears falling down her cheeks, "How did he find you? Find us? Maybe he is harmless but what if the next man isn't? I can't do this anymore. It's not worth this."_

_Nothing did happen that time. The threats were harmless, and when Robin made a threat of his own — a threat to sue for harassment, assault, and intimidating a witness — Mr. Roberts made quick settlement out of court with his wife._

_But the damage had been done to Marian. She had become terrified. She always saw the worst case scenario, as many women did. But men are not as dangerous, or powerful as they appear. Usually, they are full of harmless threats, intimidating language, but no real force or guts to follow through with their words._

_And even though Robin knew they were safe, that his job would bring no danger to his family, he couldn't disagree that it was time to move on to a better paying job. It was a sacrifice for an adrenaline junkie such as himself, to move from investigating to engineering, but the pay was better, and he had a family to support._

_He calls Mulan, his old college friend, and asks if the company she was working for had any openings, and, not for the first time, Mulan puts her reputation on the line and convinces the firm to give Robin a chance._

_Later, she'd show her faith in him again by asking him to help her with her start-up company._

 

.::.

 

It had been the right decision to leave the world of playing detective behind - absolutely. he was now working for a great company founded by an even greater friend. His salary was nothing to sneeze at and his son wanted for nothing.

So it made no sense that he was sitting here reminiscing about the Old Days with any sort of fondness.

His office phone shook him from his memories, bringing him back into the present.

"Robin Locksley," he says into the phone. Someone had called his direct line, and he didn't recognize the number. He hoped that meant…

"Hi…"

It's her. He recognizes her voice immediately, though it was a little higher in pitch, a little less confident in tone, but it is her.

"Regina," he says over her just as she says _This is Regina Mills_ , and he hears her chuckle.

She goes to speak but her breath hitches. The slight sound of her breath catching doesn't go unnoticed.

"Did everything end well last night?"

"Yes, nothing interesting happened after you left me." She assures quickly, "I'm, uh, calling because I've been told to make you my top priority for now."

She definitely didn't mean it to sound flirtatious, he reminds himself. Despite the fact it sounded that way, she didn't mean it. He holds back from teasing her about it, it's sensitive. She's at work.

"I mean, I need to get that client intake report done as soon as possible, and..."

"I know what you meant," he soothes, "Lunch tomorrow?"

They sort out a time to meet, looking at schedules, and she tells him to reserve a few hours, so maybe they could get this all sorted out in "one meeting", and it's a punch to the gut to hear her trying to find ways they can quickly end their interactions with one another. But it's not personal, he knows, she's just trying to be professional and save his time.

Just when they are about to hang up, he hears a very audible yawn from the other end of the phone.

"I'm boring you, it seems" he says, amusement in his tone.

"Sorry, no, it's not that. I just didn't sleep well last night." she returns quickly.

He's not sure what to say, so he lets the conversation go silent, waiting to see if she wants to elaborate on why.

"Do you think I'm a bad mother?" she almost breathes out, before amending "Strike that— forget I said anything, I'm just—”

"You're not a bad mum," Robin says assuredly, "Not at all."

"You barely know me" she reminds them both, "You don't know that."

"I do." he says, "I'm a father, I can recognize a good parent when I see one. I saw how you are with Henry. He's your whole world."

"He is," she says, her breathing is a bit heavy and he wonders if it means she' panicking, angry, upset, or...maybe she's crying? But he can't tell what she is right now and won't as her.

"He had a nightmare last night, and then was angry at himself because he thinks he's too old to have a nightmare, and apparently feels it's his job to protect his mother." She's talking fast, and her voice is a bit shaky. And somehow, despite not knowing her long, he knows what's on her mind.

"It's not your fault." His voice is clear and steady. The words articulated clearly, as if he is trying to absorb them into her very being, let her know that they are real.

"Isn't it?" she shoots back, "I mean all of this, if I had just-" she pauses and then sighs, sounding exasperated. "You don't know the whole story."

"I know that if last night caused your son to have a nightmare, it wasn't your doing. It was your lunatic of an ex-husband. You can't blame yourself for his actions."

"I try to protect him from everything. And I'm failing." she whispers, "Maybe he's not hurt, maybe he isn't threatened, but I can't protect him from feeling afraid, and what kind of mother does that make me?"

"A human one," He itches to touch her, to see her, talking through a phone isn't enough. "Roland has nightmares, about his mother dying. He can't even remember her, and that scares me sometimes. One day he asked where his mommy was, and I told him how she had died, and was up in heaven. I cocked it all up." He laughs bitterly. "Later that night, he woke up with a nightmare that he got sick and died like his mommy."

Robin relives the painful memory, feels the guilt surrounding him as he remembers how his son clung to his neck, screaming that he didn't want to die like his mum died.

"That's not your fault," Regina says, mimicking the tone Robin had used when he said those words earlier.

"Maybe not, but I'm sure I could have handled it better." He hears the pain on the other end of the phone, and remembers the pain he's felt before. "I directly caused him nightmares that night. You, on the other hand, did nothing to cause Henry to feel bad, if his nightmare was related to anything last night it was not in your control. You did everything in your power to protect him from that man, I saw it myself. You won't be able to convince me otherwise."

"I still feel…"

"I know." he finishes for her, "But you're wrong. You can't prevent everything bad from happening to him."

There's a pause at the other end, and then a wispy _I suppose you're right_ and he smiles, picturing her chewing over his words, deciding he was in fact, correct.

"I'm always here," he offers, "If you need me, I mean. To talk, to...whatever."

The silence is perhaps the most uncomfortable conversation pause they've had yet.

"I don't think that's a good idea" she settles on, finally.

"Talking to me? Why not?"

"You don't need to be involved in my problems."

"I'm not afraid of you," he rushes to say quickly "or your _problems._ "

"I know," she says with a sigh, "But you really, really should be.

They will have to agree to disagree. Plans are finalized, and he hangs up, feeling more confused, and intrigued than he had before speaking with her. And that is saying something.

 

.::.

 

The dull throb is there, the familiar pain to the back of her neck. Oh, if she was less experienced with this particular feeling she could confuse it, assume it was relating to sleeping on her neck wrong when cuddling a stubborn eight year old, but she knows what this is, the familiar feeling she has after a particularly stressful event on little sleep.

She frantically grabs for her purse, grabs her medication and pops a pill, swallowing it dry. She wills it to work quickly. But it's too late to do anything but make the storm more bearable, she knows that. She should have realized this morning's exhaustion, her overly sensitive skin...that wasn't related to a bad night's sleep but the onset of a migraine.

She a deep, long breath in and lets it out slowly, repeating the process, trying in vain to clear her mind.

She can do this. If she just keeps her thoughts calm, and cool, and not focus on the stress of her life, she'll be fine.

But then she hears the gentle buzzing of her cell phone, vibrating against the cool veneer of her desk. She checks the screen to see Mal's shining face smiling back at her.

She hesitates for a second, wondering if this call will make her impending headache worse or better, and decides she really, really just needs to talk to someone. She picks up the phone and swipes her finger quickly across the screen before she can second guess her decision.

"Hey, Mal."

"You sound like shit, little one."

Oh, great. An insult already.

"Sorry, I feel a migraine coming on."

Mal hums into the phone then adds "I have a proposition for you, some fun, and a lot of money…."

"You know I don't do that unless I can do my own background check,and my own little conflict check…" She starts. Mal knows this. It was the very reason why Regina resisted joining the agency to begin with. You never know the client, never got to interact with them, feel them out yourself.

"Mhm, but you can. He's a repeat client. I can give you his name and information. And you can take my word he's a decent guy, easy to please too." Mal pauses, wait for a protest that never comes. "Look, he was all set to do a duo with me and Carmella and she's got a terrible cold and there's snot everywhere, and it is just _not_ going to work. And I'm not cancelling, it's eighteen hundred _a piece_ for two hours of work, and trust me, we will be _working_ for less than half that time.."

It's a lot of money. Money she needs.

"When?" Regina asks, pinching her nose.

"Tonight? It's from 7:30 to 9:30."

Oh, Henry has a boy scouts meeting tonight. And if she called Charlie's mom, she might be able to arrange a school-night sleepover. It wouldn't technically violate the rules of her custody agreement and would make Henry ecstatic.

Of course, she might be a mess by then — if these symptoms blossom into a migraine attack between now and then. Though, realistically, she has a full day before the headache symptoms.

"I don't know, Mal…"

"I'll email you his information. Think on it."

She clicks her tongue in reply, but she's not all there, her attention is elsewhere, and Mal can feel it.

"What's wrong, little one?" She draws, her voice soothing, "Another run in with Evil Incarnate?"

It's her name for Leo, and it never stops to make her laugh. Funny because it's true, isn't it?

"Mmhm," she hums bitterly.

"Gina, tell me what he did already, for fucks sake." She sounds exasperated, annoyed but Regina knows her well enough to know how Mal sounds when she's worried.

"He tried to catch me violating the custody arrangement," Regina admits with a bit of a groan. "I had to rush back from work and break in through the backdoor of my own house...it's a long story."

Mal groans. "Call me, next time. You may be able to handle this all on your own, but you don't have to, you know?"

She winces. "This...uh, this time I wasn't alone."

"Tell me," she says, and she gives Regina the permission she needs. She feels her resolve fall, and she tells her. Tells her everything. Starting from Robin's first email to the moment she last time she spoke with him.

All the while Mal is neutral, asking the occasional question, but sounding never judgmental, never upset. When she finishes, Mal is silent, and it feels like there is a full minute of silence before she speaks.

"Sometimes the chemistry with clients just hits perfectly," she gives, and Regina winces, she knows what's coming."But attraction and chemistry, they are fleeting. You don't give into them. You can't. It's dangerous, dear."

"I _know."_ She sounds like a petulant child, and she hates it.

"I know you, darling, you're a sucker for children, but you can't fall for every man with a sappy parenting story."

"I didn't fall for him," Regina corrects — because she didn't — not at all. She had no desire to see him romantically. This was just a desire for companionship, friendship. That's all.

"Oh my Regina," Mal said, and the tone was soothing, didn't mean to sound condescending, but damn, did it feel like that.

"Stop it, Mal. I'm telling you, I don't have those feelings for him. I just...I think he's nice. You have clients you like and feel friendly with."

"I do" she says quickly, "But they're established clients I've had for _years,_ my dear, and even they don't see pictures of my family members."

She winces. "I know. I fucked up."

"How was the sex?"

She had glossed over that part. Telling Mal would be embarrassing.

"Look that's not the point, the point is he ended up being a surprise client of Gold's, and it all seems like a legitimate coincidence, where the end result was he was in my life now in a very different way than he'd been before, and maybe I could handle that, but then fucking Leo picked that day and that moment to act up, and suddenly he's in _that part_ of my life too, and it's all too much too fast.

"I'm asking how the sex was, I don't need a monologue on the series of unfortunate events that followed the sex."

"Mal…"

"It was good then?"

Regina groans. "It was fantastic, okay? He's very good looking and he knows what he's doing in the bedroom, okay? If he asks me for a recommendation for his next excursion, I'll send him to you and then we can compare notes and compete over who came the most. Can we get back to the point?"

"So there were orgasms, hm? Oh, my dear…"

"Don't patronize me."

"You like him. Quite a bit it seems."

"I barely know him."

Mal hums in affirmation. "True, but he knows more about you than most."

"By sheer coincidence," she reminds Mal because it's not like she willingly shared everything with this man.

"Not all of it, little one. If you didn't trust him, you would not have let him drive you home. Part of you wanted him there."

"I told you, if I drove myself..."

"Yes, driving yourself home after a glass of wine or a cocktail was a risk. And letting this man drive you was a risk. you decided one was less risky and more preferable than the other. If it had been a different man, I bet you would have decided driving on a glass of wine was less risky."

And Regina realizes all at once that Mal is right.

"Look, what's done is done, I'm not going to lecture you over every decision you already made," Mal says, "But I think circumstances here were extraordinary, not only the fact he ended up being Gold's client, but the fact it happened to be one of the few clients you...connected with. You should know that, I mean, it's one thing to lie to me, another to lie to yourself, yeah?"

She closes her eyes tight, hating herself in that moment. "You're right. I just didn't see it. What do I do?"

"Well you can trust your gut, and continue to trust this guy, let him in more...or...you go to Gold, say you can't see him, let the fucker chastise you about it, and cut him out completely. You do one or the other, but you don't do any of this in-between shit. He needs to know that he's either completely out of your life forever, or he's in it. If he's half in he's going to get curious, he's going to push harder, and no good can come of it. So pick a side. He's in your life or out completely."

She makes sense. But, to be frank, Regina had planned to keep him in her life, but at a distance, to do exactly what Mal described as "that in-between shit”. And hearing the well-thought out reasons to not do that? Well… it is hard. And she ached to find a flaw in Mal's logic, but…

"I should just stay away and cut him out of my life forever," Regina says. The disappointment is thick in her voice, she feels it, knows Mal hears it too.

"Probably," Mal agreed, and then she adds carefully "but that's not what you want."

Regina's mind is all flashes of Robin - the way he reacted when she put a hand on his shoulder. The way he looked at her when she'd speak about her son, god, those moments with the boy in the restaurant the first night they met, the night they were together, his hands and his mouth and his body...and then those words, the way he treated her…

It's as terrifying as it could be, even with Mal's assurances that it's okay to want this, to want someone to trust, to want someone to confide in...even so, with all the encouragement, it's frightening to she finally voices her feelings.

"No, it's not what I want. I don't want him out of my life."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's an f/f/m scene and a f/f scene in this chapter.

Getting paid to have sex with Mal is one of the less displeasing aspects of her job.

They're lying on the bed now, clothes half off, the two of them without shirts, Mal in a bra and pants, Regina in a bra and her tight little skirt, and _he's_ between them, focusing his attentions on Regina. He's kissing her, groping her ass, one hand is underneath her, lightly cupping her neck, the other roaming over her body, caressing the curves, before he reaches her ass and gives it a shameless squeeze.

They used to do this more regularly, used to advertise as a team, and oh, they raked in the cash before Mal's manager put an end to it, arguing she couldn't continue to do these sessions with a girl who was outside the agency, especially a girl like Regina who was quickly becoming a favorite with the agency's clientele, and was doing a bang up job of stealing clients.

Threesomes usually pay a bit more, despite the fact there's usually less work to do, and if Regina's lucky the man who has hired her is shy, or wants to watch, and she can focus on the woman, who tends to be less demanding, more appreciative. Sometimes the third person is the client's mistress, or wife, but she prefers when it's another professional.

Regina vastly prefers it when that professional is Mal.

Not just because Mal's beautiful (it's never a chore to fuck someone as breathtakingly gorgeous and sexy as Mal). Not just because Mal knows what she's doing (she does, she feels amazing, and it's rare to get pleasure from a client, but with Mal it's nearly expected). It's so much more than aesthetics or orgasms.

Mainly it is because Mal is one of the few people — frankly for some time, _the only_ person— Regina trusts. And part of it is just the familiarity, of knowing Mal's body better than anyone else's, of Mal knowing her better than anyone else. And part of it is just...Mal's overall style.

If what they did could be considered an art, like a type of dance, it'd be acceptable to say Mal has a talent, that she is a natural.

Mal greets the client with a small smile and an outstretched arm (not the immediate kiss and groping agencies teach you to open with). She starts with a squeeze of the clients hand, moves him into the room, sits him down on the bed, or a couch, where she introduces Regina, motions for her to sit on her lap, and from there they flirt with each other, and the client. They touch up thighs and stroke down backs, tousle hair and plant light kisses that deepen as clothes come off. It's familiar. Comfortable. Starting a night of sex and debauchery feels as natural and smooth as easing into a warm bath when it's with Mal.

After years of knowing Regina, Mal knows her preferences, what she likes, and more importantly what she _doesn't_ like. And she's not afraid to direct a client to the things Regina will most enjoy, or at least to direct them away from the things Regina _hates._

That is why when their wealthy, middle-aged, not terrible looking but not too experienced client had licked Regina's ear clumsily, Mal cupped his jaw, turned him, drew him into a kiss and then asked if he would mind using his tongue elsewhere, directing him down to her chest.

And while he focused his mouth on Mal's body ( _harder_ she'd cried when he gave a soft suckle to the right nipple - and she's irresistible this way, unashamedly asking for pleasure, sighing and tossing her head back when he finally gets the pressure just right _),_ Regina takes the opportunity to wipe off the layer of drool he had left on her ear. Mal smirks knowingly at her, winking quickly at the action.

Their client is a breast man, Regina had noticed from the second Mal's shirt was off, and she wonders why she was Mal's go-to replacement for Carmella, someone a bit more buxom would probably have been better for him - but no matter, he seems happy enough between her ass and Mal's ample tits.

The man moves so he's almost completely on top of Mal and focuses on further undressing her, reaching hands behind her back and freeing her of the bra, from where her breasts had already been pulled out, his hands then fiddling with the buttons of her slacks, Mal reaches her hands out to where Regina is lying next to her. His head is down by her chest, freeing Mal up to angle her head to the side and kiss Regina, a few seconds of a passionate kiss, and it never fails to have that reaction to her, she's never been so attracted to a woman, after all, and it's been quite awhile since they've been together.

Mal then slides her hand over Regina's curves, a subtle reminder that Regina should be undressing herself at the moment.

She sits up quickly, stands at the foot of the bed and shimmies out of her skirt, reaches a hand behind her to unclasp her bra.

Their client (she can't even remember his name, to be honest) has stripped Mal of the rest of her clothes and is focusing his efforts between her thighs. When the last shred of silk covering Regina's body is off, the far too sexy panties discarded on the floor, she returns to the bed, crawling carefully on hands and knees back to Mal, back to laying down next to her, her body turned towards the blonde, kissing her deeply, her hands going to Mal's breasts, touching and caressing and gently plucking her nipples, in case their client was looking and needed the visual. They are, without a doubt, perfect breasts, Mal's a more beautiful, more real version of a Barbie doll, and she knows it. It's one of the things Regina loves and admires. The confidence, the unapologetic ownership of her body and its beauty. Mal deepens the kiss, tilting her head further to the side, her body turning towards Regina slightly while her hand cups the back of her neck, moaning into her mouth sweetly.

The client is still between Mal's thighs but now, when Regina opens her eyes to do a cursory glance in his direction she sees he's looking up at them, not as focused on the task before him as he once was, and perhaps that was Mal's intention in drawing Regina into this (now heated) make out session. He'd been trying to please her, but it appears his efforts are lacking. Given the kissing he had done, and the poor use of his tongue against her ear, she's not surprised.

"You two look incredible together," he says as he pulls his mouth away from Mal's sex, his voice laced with that primal hunger.

Mal's lips split against Regina's in a smile, a little giggle, and she turns her face from the kiss to look down and thank him.

"Enjoying each other?" he asks, a little smirk on his face. And oh, men. So easy. Playing right into her hand.

" _Mmhmm,_ " Regina hums, and she draws her lips down to Mal's jaw, kissing her gently. Mal is a perfect actress. Her sharp intake of breath, the way she arches into her touch, it's all so artfully done you'd never know it was all pretend.

"You - _mm_ Alexandra that's amazing - you like to watch us, don't you?"

And this is how Mal directs the evening, with questions like that. It seems innocent enough, but oh, there's a plan. She plays like she sees the checkmate several moves ahead.

Regina continues to kiss down her neck, suckling and swirling her tongue on each kiss. She tastes a bit of Mal's perfume but it's mostly just the salt of her skin, her own familiar taste. It's been awhile since they've done _this_ together, yet they still know each other's bodies so well, it's like coming home.

"I _love_ to watch you," the man groans, and he's sitting up now at the foot of the bed, freeing Mal to shift to her side, so they are both facing each other. Mal tightens the grip on Regina's neck, drawing her up from where Regina is kissing and back to her lips, scratching up the back of her head just a bit to thread fingers through her hair as she continues to kiss her hard, while one of her legs shifts to wrap around Regina's body, and one of Regina's legs moves between Mal's. They are tangled up together, and the way they move, it all screams that this is _familiar_ for them both.

"I missed you," Regina coos as she breaks the kiss, staring into her eyes, "it's been too long."

"It has, little one."

"You do this often?" the client asks,

Mal nods."We used to be together."

Regina moves her attention to Mal's breasts, (her nipples already hard and tight), fighting the urge to laugh or smile, Mal always comes up with stuff like this, she can read a man's fantasy and then just voices it, she can hear how much this little lie has pleased him.

"Really?" he asks, and Mal nods, she shifts herself so that she's straddling one of Regina's legs, and then she rolls her hips against her, Regina rocking into the movement.

"Mm, until Alex got herself a boyfriend."

Regina looks up from kissing Mal's body, to give a coy smile. "But he doesn't know about this." She motions to them together, and doesn't need to elaborate whether her made-up boyfriend doesn't know that she's escorting, or that he doesn't know he's escorting with her made-up girlfriend, she'll wait til the question is asked at least.

"I still know every part of her body," Mal breathes as she sits up, propping an elbow on the side of Regina, her other hand travelling between her tits, tracing a line down to her navel, she settles fingers between her thighs, lightly caressing around her core, circling around her clit, adding pressure to the movement slowly.

Regina responds instinctively, arching into the touch. Mal's not lying, she knows her body well, and her touch is maddening, delicious, sending shivers down her spine, and she feels a faint throb around her sex, feels herself get a bit wetter, just from the light touch of a friend who knows her body as well as she knows her own. But she's not quite there yet and Mal knows it.

Mal moves to sit on top of Regina, a bended knee on either side of her body, straddling Regina's tiny waist, looking down at her with a devilish smile on the face.

"I know she's so sensitive, right here," she purrs before leaning down to plant wet kisses around her nipple before taking it in her mouth. Her tongue swirling just right.

It's definitely not funny anymore, because Mal's mouth is perfect, giving her just the right pressure she needs when she sucks, light teeth scraping over the nipple. Her hand is on Regina's other nipple, thumbing over it lightly, the way she likes, and it's causing a delightful electric feeling down her body. She lets out a low moan and rocks her hips on instinct, even though there's nothing to rock against.

She's a perfectionist, Mal, and that's probably why she's so intent on pleasing everyone, herself included. Though sometimes she wonders if Mal doubts her acting ability, or forgets Regina's not the client, if that's the reason for her dedication.

Regina stops thinking altogether and gives into the feeling, moaning and stretching as Mal does delicious things with her mouth and hands. Her eyes focused on Mal, her friend, her beautiful, very talented friend. Regina cups the back of her neck, pulling her back up towards her lips, and they kiss, and it's deep and sensual and not at all the playful, coy little kisses they had traded before.

Mal's mouth parts with her body for just a bit, and she readjusts herself, takes one leg and moves it so she's straddling one of Regina's legs instead of just her waist, and they continue to kiss, ferocious, needy kisses, Regina rocking her core against Mals knee, and it's good friction, it's what she needs to get sufficiently turned on, and that's the point, isn't it? She could fight it, easily could detach herself and deny herself the pleasure, but this is usually the only truly satisfying sex she gets anymore, and she’d rather indulge when she gets it.

Mal's ever the actress, her moans and even the small little kisses she peppers around her jawline every now and then before drawing her back into a deep kiss, it's all giving into the fantasy she's set up, and Regina can hear the faint grunts of their now-neglected client, before Mal stops the makeout session, rolling off Regina and onto her side. Regina groans in protest until Mal puts two fingers on Regina's lips, with a shake of her head and a little smile.

"Not yet, my dear," she says, and then her hand is stroking her inner thigh, the way she knows Regina likes, lightly teasing but not touching where she needs.

"I know how much she likes this," Mal says, and oh, she's speaking to the client again, she's sitting up on the bed next to him, motioning for him to sit on the other side of Regina, and then taking his hand and moving it for him against Regina's thighs, it's tender, but not too light, not light enough to tickle her. Goosebumps flare, desire overwhelms her, and she rolls her hips, impatient and needy, the motion causing Mal to chuckle.

Mal's fingers slide through the wetness between Regina's legs, skimming between the warm skin of her sex, making a sound of approval at the fact her actions have indeed worked Regina up sufficiently for what's to come.

"So wet, my little one," Mal says proudly, and then to the client "I know how to make her see stars. Would you like to see?"

Regina looks up then to see how the client is faring. He's still sweeping hands over her legs, moving them up and down her hips, staring at Mal's hands as she sweeps through wet folds, and when she dips a finger in slowly, but at that perfect angle, she lets out a stifled little gasp as the familiar acute ache burns inside her.

"Just there," she hears Mal say. "Just like that." The angle is perfect. The pace, though, the pace is slow. It's torture, the ache building inside of her, burning, frustrating her with the realization she has an itch that this pace won't ever scratch, oh it will build and make that need more powerful but she won't send her over the edge like this, and it's torture.

"Mia… more." Regina doesn't need to elaborate by what she means by more, and that's good, because she barely remembered to call her by the right name.

Mal adds a finger, and ups the pace just a bit, and Regina's hips buck, moving in a quick rhythm, trying desperately to speed things up.

But Mal likes to take her time, uses her other hand to grip and still Regina's hips as her fingers work their magic, and it's a pleasant, stinging pleasure, the ache so delicious, continuing to build at a slow, torturous pace.

"God," she hears the client groan, and then she remembers this evening isn't about her, or Mal, it's about him.

"Come here," Regina says to him, reaching her hand out blindly, she's staring straight at the ceiling focusing on keeping her eyes from rolling into the back of her head, but she has a free hand, and maybe a hand job isn't what he had in mind when he booked a threesome, but it's something to keep him feeling a part of the foreplay, right?

The man is by her legs, and he's been just staring at Mal's movements between her thighs, and you'd think it would be boring, but… he seems interested, seems a bit reluctant to scoot up on the bed, even knowing he's moving towards her upper body so she can give him some well deserved attention.

She reaches for his cock after he shifts up, and the initial hold is a bit clumsy, the angle slightly off, but she adjusts her hand, grabbing him snugly at the very base of his cock and draws her hand up slowly, twisting ever so slightly as she does. Drawing her thumb lightly over the tip when she reaches it, a slight pause when Mal hits just that right spot inside her and pleasure blooms.

The pace she sets for moving her hand matches the pace Mal has set for fingering her. It's automatic, almost, and when Mal ups the pace Regina loses herself, feels herself tighten, her muscles contracting, and she's so close and—

"Slow down, we've got all night!" the client hisses, grasping her hand and removing it from his cock. Right. She had matched Mals pace automatically and she was about to give him a very expensive handjob. Whoops.

Mal slows inside her and gives her a sweet little smile, an understanding nod, and that's it, Regina's forgiven for getting lost in the pleasure and nearly leaving them with a decidedly unhappy customer.

He recovers quickly as well, he's leaning over her and kissing and licking her breasts, and it's not….terrible. Not bad. But certainly not good, at least not until she feels Mal's fingers inside her pump in and out again, until Mal lowers her head between her thighs and she feels her tongue swiping firmly and quickly over her clit, and then, then every touch feels delicious. Her body just feels alive with the pleasure, God, she is so happy her profession never killed her ability to find sex enjoyable, never made her feel dirty for loving the pleasure, never made her associate sex with a feeling of worthlessness, because it's too good, it's too wonderful to give up, and she's so close again, wound so tight. Mal's fingers are hitting her just where she needs it, and she's going to, it's going to happen, even with this man prodding her awkwardly it'll happen and—

Mal stops, pulls back, her fingers still inside Regina as she moves to sit upright, grabbing the man's hand with her free one and drawing it down, down Regina's body.

"Want to make her come?" she asks, a sparkle in her eye, and Regina would laugh and cry at the same time, because no, he won't make her come, she's not so easy, and he's not really that good at this, is he?

But he's up and moving back down, scooting to where Mal sits. She removes her hand from Regina, fingers slipping out of the wetness, and Regina lets out an immediate whine, she shouldn't, but it's automatic, she'd been so close and losing those fingers just makes the ache sharper. It's unprofessional, and once again Mal should be admonishing her, but instead she gives her that warm smile. She must assume the whine was part of the act.

Mal is moving his hand to her, whispering, _Just like this_ and guiding two of his fingers — rough and calloused inside her, at the right angle, palm smacking into her clit with each thrust and it's… it's good.

It's just that he's staring at her, with beady little eyes and a smug little smile she wants to wipe off his face, because he really has nothing to be smug about, nothing at all. If it weren't for Mal practically touching her for him, she'd have a tough time even acting interested.

This would just be easier if Mal hadn't decided to involve him.

He's not _unattractive_ , Regina repeats to herself. He's not an asshole. There's no reason to be this off her game when he's decent looking and smelling and hasn't really offended her, not really. She's handled herself professionally through so much worse. So why is this so hard?

It may be that this is the first time with a client since Robin, and _that_ , that had been something special, that had been amazing and felt so damn good and—

She isn't supposed to think like that about Robin, not ever again, but she wants to finish quickly, she's not going to get away with faking an orgasm right now. Mal has this look, and she knows it means she's determined to make this poor guy succeed at what appears to be one of the areas where he is failing at life — so they're doing a little bit of teaching now.

She shouldn't think of Robin, of the defined muscles of his arm, the way he looks when he's focused, eyes staring intently at her, hungry, of the way he'd fucked her, and she's close, and it'll help, so if the image of Mal guiding someone _else_ right now helps, it's nothing personal, it's just part of her job.

She closes her eyes and thinks of it, the night with Robin. Robin ,whose warm blue eyes had looked into hers with passion, with warm hands that had been so gentle and yet so strong. She thinks of when he'd parted her legs and grasped her hips firmly and confidently. She remembers the look he'd given her right after she had climaxed - sexy and hungry, but also soft and appreciative, and God, it had made her feel so fucking _valued_ , as if he'd been pleasuring her just for _her,_ not his own selfish pride, not to please his own ego, but for _her_ …

Her hips are already rolling and bucking when she feels Mal adding pressure to her clit, soft touches becoming firmer, and then she feels herself fluttering around his fingers, hears his light curses and encouraging words before she blocks them out, replaces his voice with Robin's, thinks about the light stubble that had brushed against her thighs, those strong hands that had traced over every curve, and it pushes her over the edge, a soft little shout falling from her lips before Mal's mouth is on her, swallowing her moans.

Mal continues to kiss and touch her until she rides out her orgasm, her kissing at first so aggressive and passionate, and then softens, let's her come down from the high.

"Her first time coming with a client," Mal says proudly, as she sits back up on the bed and faces the client, and Regina plays along, agreeing with the lie, keeping her eyes from rolling as the man smiles smugly and proudly, and then they are shifting positions, laying him down as Regina sits up. She can reach a climax with Mal, has done that before. But there's only been one client to get her there without Mal.

And he would never know he was the only one.

Mal has a condom in her hand (she must have picked it up quickly from the nightstand, she's sneaky like that. She presents it to the client suggestively, and he nods in answer.

She tears the paper away, pulls out the condom on the tip of his cock, and then, instead of using her hands to draw it down, she uses her mouth to apply it, a simple, sexy, dirty move that always seems to work up a client.

"Now," she says seductively, "which one of us would you like?"

The clients eyes wander back and forth between Regina and Mal, taking ample time to gawk, inspect, probably comparing the two, weighing the pros and cons of them both. She doesn't much like the way he stares at them, as if they were two pieces of meat at a butcher shop, but why does it bother her? For years this is practically all she has known from a man, all she has come to expect. It never bothered her before.

He's glancing back and forth more rapidly now, looking like he's frustrated that he doesn't have two cocks so he can just fuck them both at once, but then he's watching towards Regina, and oh, delightful. She's been chosen.

He motions for her to lie down, and it's not her favorite position, she'd rather be on top, where she can control things, speed things up, slow things down, but he's the boss tonight, and as things go it's not so bad, she's still wet, slippery even from her orgasm, a wetness that lube can't quite mimic, and it's better this way. She hears his groan as he parts her legs, his bended knees between her, and then he moves into her, slowly at first.

He grabs Mal by the back of the neck and lifts her face to his, and she's upright now in a full on desperate make out section as he fucks her. It occurs to her that she ended up getting the better deal here right about the time he attacks Mal's neck with his mouth (he's devouring her, and she's letting him think she likes it, in that convincing way she does). He starts moving a bit faster, grabs Regina's hips with a free hand and pulls her closer, the angle shifts a bit and there's a strangled cry that comes out of his mouth that sounds desperate. He's already quite close, Mal hadn't lied when she said he was an easy client.

But then he's slowing down, drawing back from Mal to look at her, perplexed for a moment, and then offers a coy smile and says "Sit on her face."

She laughs and takes her position, her slender thighs on either side of Regina, facing the man that's inside her but really doing nothing in the way of pleasing her.

Mal's not the client, and she's such a terrific actress that there's really no need to do anything here. Mal's sufficiently lubed up in case he decides to change positions to fuck or go down on her halfway through this round, so truly, there's no need to actually eat her out. Regina could just let her rock and moan and give the man a show of his life.

But it's Mal, it's _her,_ and she deserves a bit of pleasure too, so she finds herself trying to please her anyway, tongue dipping inside her and back out in a quick motion, responding to the moans and the grinding Mal's doing above - she can't see anything but she can _hear,_ and Mal sounds breathless and desperate, begging for their client to suck on her nipples, but he must have gotten better with his mouth over the course of the night, because she's getting wetter, her thighs are trembling in that cute way they do when she's close - such a slight little shiver, and she's grinding faster and needier as their infernal client picks up pace and makes erratic movements inside her. She hears Mal telling him to wait for her, to wait just a little bit longer, and her pleas work.

Those movements of their client become slowed and a bit less desperate, a bit more deliberate. Regina continues to eat Mal out, tongue moving up to tease her clit in strong fast licks, and when she sounds and feels and tastes desperate enough,she uses her fingers on her, a middle and index finger hooked in just the right way, thumping in and out at just the right pace to make Mal buck and writhe.

Their client is close again, moving inside her quickly now, his low moans and heavy panting interrupting Mal's breathy sighs. Regina doesn't let up until she hears Mal cursing and crying out her (fake) name, feeling her come around her fingers hard. She hears the client cursing in the background, and he has without a doubt finished (has without a doubt been holding back and waiting to finish for awhile), but in this moment, right now, he feels worlds away despite the fact the man is actually inside of her right now..

The extract themselves from each other, untangling limbs and laying for a bit in the afterglow as Regina catches her breath a little while spouting out little white lies of how good their client felt inside of her.

There's going to be another round, at least an attempt at a second round. There's much too much time left on the clock. So she excuses herself to the restroom to prepare for round two.

The condom had dried her out, and well… she needs to relubricate. It's a regrettable reality of what they do, usually (usually, almost always, except for those rare times, like the time she was with _Robin,_ but that is not this time).

Mal enters the restroom behind her without knocking and immediately turns on the faucet before saying a word, waiting for the water to warm up before wetting a washcloth and soaping it up, dabbing her neck and chest. Regina smiles. Mal is sticky from slobber, the poor girl. Come to think of it, she is too.

Mal is whispering and giggling about the man (the faucet still running, dulling the sound out) "God, I've told him to stop with the drooling. He's actually better _this time_ than he was with me the first time," she hisses. "I'm trying to teach him, it's just… I think this time might take and he might actually learn something."

Regina laughs, moves to grab the lube she's left in the bathroom for this purpose, but Mal stops her. "Won't need it, dear," she says.

Regina groans. "Trust me, I do. You know me and condoms."

"Trust me." she says. "You won't have to fuck him again."

And Regina does, she trusts Mal if no one else.

Because it's not long before they are back in bed, on either side of that client, and Mal shares with him the fact she's just so entirely missed "her Alex" and "her Alex's ass" and she's describing it, talking about how much nicer it is than any other woman's, firmer, but soft at the same time, perfectly round and high, and he adds something about her hips, and Regina's blushing now, as they list her attributes and she waves off the compliments.

"And what do you like about her?" He asks Regina.

But it's an easy answer. "Her lips," she says, eyes focused on Mal, a bit proud of how her cheeks pink when she says it.

"These old things?" Mal responds, pointing to her lips with a giggle. And then Regina's moving across their client to lean in for a kiss.

"I want to watch you," the man growls, and Regina can tell just by looking at Mal that the man has played into her hand. It's what she wanted, and who could blame her? Better her than dealing with drool and kisses filled with too much tongue.

He moves off the bed and onto the armchair, and Regina reminds herself for the umpteenth time to never sit bare assed in any hotel furniture as the man sits naked, cock in hand.

And then she focuses her efforts on the woman beside her, as she climbs on top of Mal, threading her hand through her hair as she kisses her (and she didn't lie, Mal's lips are a marvel, man or woman, gay or straight, you can't help but be drawn to them), mouth splitting in a wide smile as Mal gropes her ass shamelessly.

Mal rips her lips from Regina's, head tilting towards their client with a sultry stare.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Regina follows Mal's stare to find their client nodding eagerly.. He's...uhh he's taking care of himself as well (pretty much going to _town_ on himself, if she does say so) and she quickly looks away from the sight of….all of that. Instead she turns to face Mal, whose lower lip is now caught in her teeth, biting back a sultry smile.

Regina moves her legs so she's straddling one of Mal's, her bended knee firmly against Mal's core. They shift a little until the friction is right for both of them, til Regina's knee is rocking into her clit, until Mal's thigh is snug against Regina's.

Regina kisses her deeply, feeling one of Mal's hands in her hair, the other on her ass, helping her to rock back and forth. There are low, quiet sighs between brief kisses as they work each other up, until Mal breaks the kiss with a throaty moan, her hips rolling in a rhythm now, a bit more urgent, a bit more aggressive.

Regina then slides to move alongside Mal, and they whimper a bit at the loss of the position that was doing them both good (but it's not as visually appealing, Regina thinks, there's a client to consider and men rarely understand the satisfaction in rubbing against someone's thigh). Her hand falls between Mal's legs, and she lets her rock into her hand, fingers coating themselves with her wetness, using it to rub circles around her clit as Mal peppers kisses from her ear down her jaw.

A feral growl from the client confirms this position is working, and if they play their cards right, it won't be long til this is all over. Mal's gasping and writhing, moving faster at the sounds of the client, and there's a bit of desperation to her movements as Regina works her slowly, giving her now swollen clit a pinch, not hiding her smug smile at the way Ma's back arches, at the way her mouth falls open, at the way her hips jerk forward almost involuntarily. After all this time, she still knows her, still knows what she likes. She feels her legs clench and tighten as the orgasm comes, as she rocks into her hand more slowly now, taking deep breaths as she comes.

"Fuck!" says a voice behind Regina, and she stifles a laugh as she watches Mal come down from her high.

But their client is close and needs a show, and Mal is far too professional to lay in an afterglow when she's meant to be working. After only a few short seconds pass, Mal is up and urging Regina to lay down on the bed, whispering, "I want you to come on my tongue" just loud enough that the client hears. He lets out a moan about how hot they are, or how sexy, or something of the like, something that means this is working for him, that they should continue this.

Mal lowers herself, head firmly between her legs, planting kisses along her thighs, and it's _almost_ ticklish, sends shivers down her spine, makes her squirm just a bit. But it's on the right side between ticklish and tingly, and it's _good._

She gives one long lick starting at the base of her entrance, all the way to her clit, giving one short little suck at the sensitive bundle of nerves, sending a current of pleasure through her. On instinct, her hands fly to Mal's head, threading her hands through her hair, anchoring her to her core.

Mal moves to quick, fluttering licks of her tongue against Regina's clit, and the feeling is overwhelming, causing her to roll her hips automatically as her soft sighs turn into gentle moans. Her thighs begin to feel shaky, and she fights the urge to wrap her legs around Mal's head and push her deeply against her. She wouldn't do that, she doesn't need that, that's not… that's not what she's here for.

But that's a fact she forgets as Mal moves her tongue to her entrance, licking her from the outside in, thrusts while her nose is pressed firmly against her clit. It's almost enough, and the slow grinding against her clit, coupled with the firm strokes of her tongues continue,has her riding the edge of an orgasm, worked almost but now completely, her clit throbbing for just a bit more attention, insides aching just a bit more acutely. It's a sweet pain, but a pain nonetheless. The hand on Mal's head pushes her closer, while the other flies to her breast, tugging and rolling her nipple between her fingers.

The client is making these sounds… sounds she isn't focusing on so they are just background noise. In the haze of edging ever close to that precipice, Mal finally switches, moving her lips around her swollen clit while two fingers dip in her wetness, entering her at the angle and speed she needs while alternating between licks and gentle sucks, teeth scraping against her clit. She feels herself getting wetter, feels those familiar muscle spasms, her legs quaking.

_Oh Fuckkkkk!_

The expletive doesn't come from Mal or Regina, and Regina shifts just out of the position that had her so close, darting her eyes back to their client just in time to see he has finished himself off, and that's it, it's over.

But Mal's fingers become more insistent, she parts her lips from Regina's clit to order "Relax little one."

"Mia." Regina scolds pointedly, giving her a look that tells her to stop fooling around. But Mal's smirk before she wraps her lips back around her clit tell her she has decided that this isn't over — she isn't going to stop just because the client has finished. And maybe Regina should stop this, there's no earthly reason for it to continue, but she's on edge, trembling, and wet, so wet, and all she wants is a release.

So when Mal's fingers resume that pace that have her throbbing, and her mouth and tongue apply the pressure and attention to her clit she's been waiting for, she lets herself take in the pleasure. When she feels her muscles pulsing, Mal shifts the angle of her fingers just so, and it's a sharp jolt of pleasure that she feels radiate down to her toes.

This feels amazing. _She_ feels amazing. She brings a hand back to Mal's head, weaving hands through her long, untamed locks, and then she feels the pressure build, gives into the feeling, clenching tightly around Mal's fingers as her orgasm hits her, cursing lightly as the spasms and trembles spill from her body.

Overall, not a bad way to make $1,800.

.::.

It's not been a particularly romantic evening, to say the least, but that has nothing to do with the venue. In fact, the hotel just oozes romance. It is an old hotel, built from when only the wealthy traveled and could afford such a luxuries. It had been restored to its 1920s splendor a number of years ago along with some modern upgrades, but probably hadn't seen a major renovation since the 1980s. It is clean, of course, yet the gold trims and sconces do not sparkle, the wallpaper no longer holds the vibrant colors it once did, and the floors are worn and scratched. Yet enough of the old world beauty shines through, enough that her mind wanders to times when the aristocrats of the past walked down these very halls, preparing for decadent balls or nights at the opera.

"You love this place," Mal says with a roll of her eyes while they wait for the elevator. She drops an envelope into her purse. Her cut of the night's work.

"I do," Regina admits, her eyes soaking in the brilliant architecture, the magnificent details no modern hotel would ever dream to include.

"Do you need to get back to Henry?"

Regina shakes her head solemnly, knowing she wants to know if she has to rush home. "Sleepover." she says, with a tinge of guilt.

"On a school night?" Mal asks, pretending to be appalled, and Regina just swats her shoulder frustrated.

But Mal continues, "Oh no, Regina, you're the worst mom ever! I'm going to have to take back that award we gave you…"

"Shut it!" Regina complains half-heartedly. These past few months she's had to keep Mal at a distance, but Regina still knows her well enough to know when she's joking. Afterall, Mal's spoken proudly about Regina's unabashed refusal to ever let anything get in the way of her son's well-being. She's frequently mentioned how applaudable it is that she breaks her back for her son. In fact, Mal has often gone as far as to say Regina puts too much pressure on herself when it comes to motherhood. Should give herself a break. Let herself be human.

Shouldn't focus on those moments where she has been less than perfect.

And it seems Mal can read her well enough to see she's battling those feelings of being less-than-perfect right now. Everything she does, even _this,_ is ultimately for Henry's benefit…

Still, being reminded that Henry is at a sleepover on a school night, because his mother needed the night to do unsavory things to a stranger, doesn't sit well. It never truly will.

"Come eat breakfast with me," Mal begs, and Regina raises her eyebrows and glances at her phone. It's ten o'clock at night. She's holding $1,800 in cash and she needs to hide it in the lining of her purse so she can make the transfer and put it into the security deposit box with the rest of the money tomorrow.

Plus there's still that prickling at the back of her head, she should sleep as much as possible, she's not out of the woods as far as a migraine goes. And she has a busy day tomorrow, full of meetings and reports, and oh god, that meeting with Robin…

"Diner. Pancakes. Eggs. Breakfast for dinner. Like old times! Please, Regina I'm starving." Mal's grasps at both her hands, swinging them playfully as she pulls her lightly toward the open elevator.

She shouldn't. But she's missed this time with Mal, missed their after-work late night meals, so when Mal adds, "And I miss you. It's been too long," she thinks, what's the harm?* Time with Mal - sober Mal - is soothing, stress-relieving, and perhaps she will ward off a headache.

"Ugh, you're so needy," Regina says sarcastically in resignation, and Mal jumps a bit and flashes that smile, reacting like a little kid who just got promised a trip to a toy store.

"Pancakessss!"

**.::.**

There's no need to discuss the venue. They both meet at _their_ old place. A wave of nostalgia hits Regina when she pulls into the parking lot, and thinks of times when these late night meals were a more common occurrence.

It's an older diner and the place smells like french fries and bacon and maple syrup, with that faint smell of bleach and disinfectant in the background — it should be off-putting, but Regina finds it oddly comforting, it means the place is cleaned regularly, after all.

This time of night there's a crowd, a certain type of customer, there are college students - most likely grabbing a bit to eat before going out for the night, and then older people down on luck, single dads stopping after time visiting with their children, potheads who just had a hankering for breakfast food, and the prices are low enough that the unemployed and homeless can be seen here sometimes, waiting out rain or cold with a bottomless cup of coffee.

Tonight there are also a group of girls who share an occupation with Regina. There are three of them at a table, they are young with too much makeup and a bit too much perfume, probably have a true pimp instead of madame. If she had any doubt in their occupation, her suspicions are confirmed when the blonde's purse falls off the counter and onto the floor, the contents spilling out like evidence at a trial. Condoms. A small bottle of lube. Mints. A wad of rolled up money. She jumps to the ground and throws the objects back into the safety of her purse and gets back up to her seat, her eyes meeting Regina quickly, shame written all over them when she realized Regina saw everything.

She's embarrassed, probably thinks that Regina and Mal- what with their expensive, sleek clothes, are so far above what she is. Little does that girl know that the contents of her knock-off Coach bag match almost exactly with the contents of Regina's Ferragamo.

She stares back at the girl with nothing but sympathy, and freezes for a second.

Mal grabs her hand, forcefully, forces her to break her stare and sit down at the booth.

"Pity about those girls," Mal draws, picking up on Regina's concerned face, "But you can't save everyone."

Regina gives a slight nod, and she wonders, oh she wonders, why Mal chose to save _her_ over all the other needier people in the world.

"So tell me what's on your mind, little one," Mal reaches across the table the grab and squeeze her hand, and Regina smiles, looks down at the table and shakes her head.

"You already know," she says with a shrug. They had talked about it on the phone, about Robin, about Leo, about her chaotic moment just yesterday. There wasn't much more to say.

"You looked troubled," Mal insists her eyes glued to hers, "so let's talk this out, and then move on to safer topics."

Regina laughs, shakes her head and says nothing. Still, Mal urges.

"You know, this was supposed to be a _good_ night. I'm taking you out, to a nice meal," Regina giggles as she points to the laminated menu, but Mal raises an eyebrow playfully as she continues, "after a profitable, enjoyable evening where I give you multiple orgasms— "

"Mal!"

There's no need to be quiet about their activities at the diner, anyone who would overhear wouldn't care, or perhaps they'd ask her to elaborate. Still, Regina's cheeks flush, and Mal laughs deviously, delighted in the fact she still can embarrass and surprise Regina after all these years.

"Did I say something untrue?" Mal asks innocently, and Regina rolls her eyes.

"A thank you would suffice," Mal said before drawing her painted lips to her coffee cup, eyes fixed on Regina.

"You're welcome," Regina shoots back, unwilling to let her win, "— for saving your night," Mal raises an eyebrow, and Regina continues in a feigned solemn tone, "you know tonight wouldn't have been as fun or satisfying without me. Especially with Carmella, and what did you say? _All that snot_."

Mal winces, causing Regina to laugh. The imagery is...accurate. But not appreciated.

They continue to banter, and it feels nice, takes her back to a time before she knew the extent of Mal's struggles, when she relied on her - too much, of course, but she didn't know it then. When they spent time together nearly every day, when Regina let Mal take care of her for those difficult months, those years back.

"I want to talk about this guy." Mal says abruptly.

Regina scrunches her nose with a scowl. "You know everything," she settles on. Because she does, she knows the story, the specifics, she knows how he is in bed, she knows more than enough.

"I know quite a bit," Mal concedes. "But…" her eyes search for Regina's, who at first feels the need to hide, to avoid eye contact. She gives in, meeting Mal's curious expression "You like him."

"I do..." she pushes a strand of hair behind her ear and looks down at her food, feels her cheeks flush, feels a smile appear on her face that has no business being there, and she's suddenly feeling guilty for liking the man. Why guilty? she's not the first to fall for a client.

She looks back up at Mal, and where she expects to see a judging, shunning look, she is instead greeted with kind, sympathetic, loving eyes, and it's almost too much. Mal takes her hand from across the table and gives it a squeeze. She's worried about her, and Regina did this to herself, and it's just…

It's too much.

Regina clears her throat, quickly changing the mood to avoid the tenderness of the moment. She won't break down in tears. Not at this diner.

"And so what?" Regina says defensively, but Mal's loving expression does not break.

"How are you holding up?" It's all Mal has to say to let her unload. She needs this, needs permission to talk about something as mundane as a crush, despite thinking she has no such right when the both of them have so much more going on in their lives.

"Not so great." Regina concedes with a sigh. "I don't know what to do or think anymore. All I do know is... yes, I like him. More than I should. And that makes no sense." she adds, and her voice wavers.

It's true. On paper, Robin does not look all that hot. First, he'd been a man who admitted to using escorts because he has no desire to appreciate the full richness and character of a partner. He'd admitted to only wanting a warm body for the night, no desire for anything more. Noble reasons aside, that is who he is. And truly, that is all she knows for sure. Everything else is just window dressing. Nice executive job. Nice car. Seems to be a decent father. But she has no reason to legitimize why her body and mind just scream that he is a wonderful man, why she has urges not only for more physical intimacy but for… emotional needs. She wants to share. To open up. To trust.

It's far too soon for that.

"Lots of things don't make sense." Mal says, her fingers playing with Regina's as she stares at their joined hands.

For a while they are silent, and then Mal asks, "Do you know what you're going to do about this?"

"What do you mean?"

"You've told me what you want," Mal reminds, and yes, Regina already told her she wants this man in her life, that is true. "Are you going to go through with it?"

She then looks up to her, a playful smile on her face and the tone changes to a lighter one - even though there's a hint of something more serious (perhaps worry) behind her eyes,

"Tell me, little one, are you going to make an effort to make a new friend?" Regina rolls her eyes, and Mal scoffs, and adds, "Or perhaps what you want is more than friends? You guys gonna start dating? Going steady?"

"Of course not," Regina scowls at her. "Even _if_ I trusted him enough, even _if_ he wanted me in that way, and those are two _big_ 'if's', god knows what Leo would do to a man I cared about."

Mal looks at her, her face full of concern. She looks…pensive. Conflicted. "Part of me wants to tell you to be careful and not trust too many people so you don't get hurt. And another part of me wants to tell you to stop being afraid of Leo and living your life like a hermit with no friends or people to trust. Otherwise you're letting him win."

Regina huffs out a breath of air, and her hands play with her hair again, smoothing that stubborn strand behind her ear. "He has a son, though. He shouldn't get involved with me. He could get hurt."

"Almost everybody has somebody. You can't only trust those who don't have anyone important in their lives." Mal tilts her head, her eyes focus on Regina. "There aren't that many of us, you know."

"I don't think of you like that. You are important to me." Her voice is insistent, almost edging against defensive. She hates when Mal undersells herself.

Mal nods quietly, "I'm not saying anything about this guy specifically. Just don't make yourself miserable because you're afraid to get close to anyone. You're not toxic, Regina."

"I know," she says, her hands fiddle with her coffee cup, playing with a packet of sugar. "I could let him in, it's just…" she clears her throat and adds, "you know nothing will come from it. Nothing like _that._ I haven't changed my mind. I'm still doing Hugo's plan."

Mal stares at her, frowning a bit. "What's the timeline on that?" she asks softly.

"I'm not there yet," Regina sighs. "And I mean… I'm busier than ever before, but rushing to get there, I, I can't do that. Too much time away from Henry, too risky. But...I'll let you know when it's closer."

Regina sighs, rubbing either side of her temples. Even mentioning her stressful life and upcoming plans cause her head to throb.

Mal notices the action and is quick to change the subject.

"Yes, enough with all that boring talk of the future," Mal says quickly, "tell me what's the best thing you've seen on Netflix lately."

The conversation flows easy, and it's as comforting and warm as the pancakes they are served. It occurs to Regina that Mal is eating normally. She's got a healthy appetite, and she's smiling at her and her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are clear and sparkling and she's just looking giddy and... healthy. She's probably been clean for awhile now, Regina thinks, but then remembers that she can't often tell with Mal. She's always so in control, she's able to hide it, and she's only gone overboard a few times over the years. Truthfully the only real sign is a lighter appetite, a hollowing of the cheeks, a loss of the light behind her eyes. That's it, until one night she overdoes it and winds up in a hospital. But still, if these past years have taught her anything, it's to trust her instincts.

"You should come over for dinner sometime," Regina says, interrupting Mal's rambling about her binge watch of Orphan Black, and then she adds, "Henry misses you."

Mal's face brightens, a broad, genuine smile takes over her, and her eyes glisten, a layer of unshed tears appearing before they are blinked away. She doesn't answer for a second, sips her glass of water out of a straw, and then closes her eyes, opens them and says, "You noticed."

Regina nods her head, "I did" she assures. "I just — don't let him down."

It's not the first time she wonders what Mal would be if it weren't for _this,_ if it weren't for the crippling addiction that consumed her. If not for the damage done to her all those years ago, Mal would probably have ruled the world. Even with all her demons and her weaknesses, she's so strong, she's savvy, brilliant, thinks on her feet, she was made for so much more than the life she has.

"I'm better," Mal says, "truly, this time."

Regina squeezes her hand and assures her that she knows she is.

It cuts a bit at the giddy, carefree mood they had moments ago, and Regina can't shake the feeling that it is a bad idea, to become reliant on Mal again, to grow close to her yet again. She's seen this version of Mal before, and noticed far too late when she disappeared, cast out by a foul potion of pills and needles. It would probably happen again, and yet —

And yet she is tired of trying so very hard to handle her life alone, to handle each day and the oppressive weight of the secrets she kept locked away from anyone. Mal is trying, she is _trying_ god damnit, and Regina is done keeping her distance because she'd thought it was the best for Mal, the best for her.

They walk off to their cars, say a quick goodbye, with promises to see each other soon. To not let so much time pass again. But the meaning is clear. This patch of being distant, of withholding themselves from each other, is over.

She hopes, she wishes, wishes it lasts this time. She needs Mal. She can't function through this world with no one to confide in. It is exhausting and miserable and oh, so lonely.

Maybe that's why she is so desperate to connect to someone, why Robin has wormed his way into her thoughts, why she feels like she needs him in her life - she'd had to take a step back with Mal - so for awhile she'd had no one to truly confide in, and it had been...well, as much as she'd convinced herself it was fine, it had been quite unbearable.

She needs her beautiful, damaged, brilliant friend back, and healthy.

Perhaps it's the impending headache, and perhaps it's the thoughts of Mal's addiction that start her down this road, but by the time she gets home, she's a ball of nerves.

The evening was supposed to be calming, and it had started off so well, yet it had brought up her ultimate plan, and well….

There was so much to do.

And she was so behind.

Robin was the first new client she had in months - having lost a regular months ago. That client had been one of her favorites and had kept her quite busy — moreso than the others, but he had moved, found a job in Boston, and she had been happy for him. He was an older man, easy to please, a good tipper… and he was gone.

So she had room in her schedule for a new customer, and in the sea of potential clients that flooded her inbox, Robin had stood out. She thought he would be a good addition to the roster, from his emails he sounded like he was very likely to be a regular client, someone who sought company more than sex, and she had been drawn to his email, assumed he'd be a regular client— and he might have been, but she didn't detect the guilt he must have felt in seeking her, that desire to be an honorable man that was holding him back from freely partaking in her services. So no, he hadn't become a regular.

She will need a new regular if she wants to keep her current timeline for that project. But she will deal with that in time. When things calm a bit. When this fuzziness in her head clears and she has a proper handle on her emotions, what they mean. What it means to want Robin around, and whether it's safe or right to let him be around.

She crawls into bed and tries to silence her worries, tries to focus on the good that this night has given her - the knowledge that Mal can be a larger part of her life again. She focuses on good thoughts, and pictures herself locking her worries up and putting them away to deal with another time.

It almost works.

**.::.**

When morning comes the dull ache in her head is slightly more oppressive. Regina forces herself to shower, standing under the gentle stream of hot water, imagining her anxiety washing off and dripping slowly out of her body, bit by bit.

This will work, she tells herself. The migraine isn't going to be so bad.

 _It isn't going to be that bad_ , she tells herself as she sends Henry a text message wishing him a good morning, and telling him to text her when he get to school.

 _It won't be that bad_ , she repeats as she makes herself breakfast - greek yogurt and strawberries, cutting up a half a banana to complete the meal.

She's managed to completely distract herself getting ready for the day. She dawdles on her outfit, chooses a sheer burgundy blouse, matches it with a black camisole underneath, and she lets a few of the top buttons of the blouse go undone. She pairs it with her favorite pencil skirt, the tight one with the high waist and the zipper that goes almost down to the hem.

She always feels a bit powerful when her armor is on, but this time it's a bit more than that. This time, she feels powerful _and_ sexy.

But then there's a knock on the door at 7:30 AM sharp, and it's early, too early for this to be any sort of good news. She wonders first if it's Henry, perhaps he forgot something he needed for school and his friend's mom was dropping him off. But Henry would have called, she knows he would have.

So she's already on edge when she opens the door and a fresh faced, smiling man is standing there.

"Regina Mills?" he asks, and she nods, and immediately he's shoving a paper in her hand.

"You've been served."

He leaves before she can even process the words - before she can even really even feel her heart pounding deeper, before the dizzy, helpless feeling takes hold. But then everything sinks in, and her breakfast is a heavy ball of lead in her stomach as she checks the papers to confirm that yes, this is what she feared.

This isn't the first time he's tried this, she reminds herself. Leo has tried to get custody before. But it's been awhile, and he's made vague threats to do so for months. He terrorized her two days ago and now she's faced with the evidence that he had already filed - already known he was torturing her like this - when he showed up at her house that day.

Leo is petitioning for custody and/or unsupervised visitation on the basis of completing anger management classes. Every damn time she reads the complaint and sees the word "son" in it, she hates him and hates herself for this situation. Wishes he would have just let her go years ago, that he didn't feel the need to ruin her life by ruining her son's life, all out of some sick need for vengeance, for daring to not follow the orders and the plan he set into place. But then, he never did what he promised her, either.

She breathes deep, tries not to let herself spiral out into helplessness. Her head throbs, her vision blurs. Oh god, this was catastrophically bad timing. This at a time when she was already fending off a headache, no, it's just going to be worse, she'll be incapacitated with the pain and won't be able to properly prepare for the custody hearing like she should and —

But her sense kicks in, tells her to ignore the growing pain in her head for now. The things she can't control are pointless to worry about. She searches to hold on to what she _can_ control. Makes a list of things she can do right now.

She needs to call her attorney. She needs to make a list of the reasons why Leo is unfit as a parent. Needs to document his malfeasance. Needs to talk to Henry's teachers, see if there's anything she can use in court about his progress. Maybe his psychologist will be necessary, and oh —

Lawyer first. David will know what to do. He might not be the most experienced, but he is honest, and dedicated, and determined. And most of all, he is unafraid of the consequences of taking her side.

When she'd first gone to instigate divorce proceedings, she'd been aware that her marital funds were to pay for the attorney. She'd had Leo's money available for the divorce, the law protecting that right, and therefore, money was no object. Yet every attorney she visited had turned her down for having a conflict of interest. She went to the most reputable firms, firms in sleek, modern office spaces located in the penthouse of high rises, only to be turned down.

She'd met David on the train home after an exhausting day. She ran into the train, dropping paperwork everywhere while in a hurry to get home to Henry while simultaneously warding off a full blown panic attack. But David was there, soothing and calm. He gathered the fallen papers for her, and asked if there was anything he could help her with, and she just blurted out her story right there, in the train, speaking into those beautiful eyes and drawing comfort from his calm demeanor. He then let her know he was an attorney, that her case would be difficult, but he would take it. Just like that. And he is better than the lot of them, has provided her the best she could get under any circumstances, and remained her attorney through every custody battle.

She's left a message asking that he call, that Leo has petitioned for a change in custody yet again. And then it is time for work. Get dressed. Put on a brave face. Hopefully she can hide in her office all day, take her time until —

Shit. Shit Shit Shit.

She has a meeting with Robin today. And it is just her luck. He'll see her upset and hurting and vulnerable. She should cancel.

She picks up the phone to do just that and then wonders if she'll be in worse pain tomorrow. If rescheduling is really a good idea when they need the intake finished by the end of the week.

She'll wait til she gets to work. Maybe it won't be so bad.

**.::.**

It's not so bad.

She repeats the mantra for so long, she almost believes it. She shuts herself in her office, her dark, silent office where she controls all the stressors. She focuses on stress-free activities. Mindless paperworks. Organizing documents.

The pain is there, but it is manageable. And she thinks, really, she'll be fine.

She believes it until it's time for her lunch meeting, when she opens the door to her office, and the world floods in.

Fluorescent lights. The buzzing of a printer. A phone ringing off in the distance. The secretary, Anna, on the phone in her usual over-cheerful, sing-songy voice that now sounds like nails on a chalkboard.

Her vision blurs and the world tilts. She's off balance.

This was a mistake. She reaches for her phone and then sees the time.

It's too late to cancel.

The pounding in her head intensifies, angry wallops against her skull. One particular blow is so painful an image of her head splitting in two comes to mind. No, no, don't think about that, it's not that bad…

Blurry spots cloud her vision, and her stomach turns. She braces herself against the wall and ignores Anna's chirpy little questions of concern.

It's not going to be okay.

She grabs a bottle of water from the kitchen and uses it to swallow a double dose of vicodin, and walks back into the darkness of her office.

She just needs those pills to kick in and she'll be just fine.

**.::.**

He's nervous.

He'd been nervous from the moment he stepped out of the shower, when he'd gotten ready for the day. At first he'd had no idea why there was a heavy weight on his stomach, a nervous flutter in his chest, but when he'd put on aftershave, he'd suddenly wondered if Regina liked the woodsy scent.

He went through the same dance with the cologne and picking out a color shirt to wear, and, okay, this is quite enough.

All the sky blue shirts and sharp, clean scents in the world aren't going to change their story, change the person she sees when she looks at him.

He reaches the restaurant early, and though it isn't much like him he orders a whiskey to soothe his nerves. He's sipping it now, and it's odd. He doesn't usually day drink, but….

She's late. And hasn't called. This is just a business meeting, there's no reason to feel like this. No reason to worry about her not showing up, no reason to feel a twinge of rejection when this is not a date, and he should not be thinking about things like whether Regina finds his company pleasant or not. She's not that to him, won't be.

Once she's twenty-five minutes late, he takes out his phone to send an email to the address she's listed on her card. Will tell her he's sorry he missed her and they will reschedule. But no sooner has he typed in her email address then he hears her smooth, crisp voice, the air of professionalism surrounding her.

"Sorry I'm late."

He cancels the email, put the phone back in his pocket and looks up as nonchalant as he can.

"It's no problem," he assures her, then he looks up to meet her eyes. His heart beats loud in his chest, and he loses his breath for a second. She's so beautiful. If he had told himself the version of her that was etched in his memory was just his mind exaggerating, making her more than she was, well, he was wrong.

She's wearing a burgundy shirt and a black straight skirt, and her hair is wavy, loose, the way Marian's was when she let it air dry. Her makeup is similarly understated, in fact, her lips are bare, it seems, and she looks fresh-faced and almost innocent. Maybe a bit vulnerable.

When she sits down she winces a bit, and touches her temples with her fingers, but then the moment is gone, and she's staring back at him, her face stoic and unsmiling.

Something is off with her. But she clearly doesn't want to talk about it, so he pretends he doesn't notice. He asks her questions and they go into the business proposal, discuss his businesses strengths and weaknesses, she discusses how this merger should go, but she talks in clipped sentences, and there are moments she looks like she's off somewhere else.

He doesn't miss the slight fidgeting, the way her face contorts when there's a clatter of silverware, the grimace when lights flicker, or when his knife squeaks across the plate when cutting his entree just now —

"Sorry" he says quickly, letting the knife and fork fall from his hands, as they shatter against the plate, causing her to wince.

"For what?" She responds, trying her best to act unaffected, unbothered.

But he doesn't miss the way her fingers touch her temples for a second.

She is in pain. And she clearly doesn't want to talk about it, but the meeting isn't going anywhere because she hasn't been able to get much out, and is struggling to answer his questions coherently which is so very much not like her. And as she struggles to get out a sentence and hisses when she touches her head, he cannot help himself.

"Regina," he interrupts softly, "What's wrong?"

She sighs, schools her features. "Just a headache."

"It's a migraine," he corrects, "and all this light and noise has got to be torture right now."

She breathes out a sigh in defeat. "Truth be told, I don't remember it being so bright in here. Or crowded."

"This cafe thrives on natural light. And it's a beautiful sunny day, darling." Robin looks at her with a bit of sympathy when he says "Could have used some more clouds though, eh?"

She nods, wincing at the sound of a waitress piling plates together two tables over. It isn't too loud, but her ears are oversensitive and the sound adds a shock of pain to her already throbbing head.

"Let's save this for another day. You go home and take care of yourself, yeah?"

"No, no I should be fine. It's not usually...like this. It'll be manageable soon."

No, it won't. He remembers when Marian's migraines had become more severe, and it would sometimes take days to recover. No, this was not going away and it's most likely that Regina knows it.

"Well let's order some food to go and finish in my office." Her eyes are shut now, head down, and he keeps his voice as soothing and calming as he can. "It's a nice, spacious, dark and quiet office, with comfy chairs, away from the beating sun and clamouring plates. It'll serve us nicely."

She looks up as if to protest, but then groans, "That... that sounds nice, actually."

**.::.**

It wasn't supposed to be this bad. It was supposed to be manageable.

She hates this. Being weak. No. Not just weak. Being at her _weakest_. Around a person she should decidedly not be showing weakness around.

He's going to wonder how she could ever handle being on her own. Now, he is going to add "debilitating illness" on top of everything else he thinks she has struggled with, and it is all too much. It is all too much because it is all too unfair. She hadn't had a migraine this severe since the first custody battle.

She's hurting, though, and she lets him talk to the waiter, gives her order "to go", lets him take the boxes and usher her outside into a cab (she puts on her sunglasses as soon as they stand, as soon as it's acceptable, and god, it helps), and when she sits next to him in the cab and breathes in, she's grateful that a fresh piney scent is overpowering the smell of stale cigarettes and old vinyl.

They reach his office, and she slumps down in the comfy couch with a groan. She should have called this off, should have called out sick and spent the day in her nice bed with the shades drawn and just slept this absolute nightmare of a day away.

Should have. But didn't. And now she's going to have to power through it.

She reaches into her bag and pulls out the prospective.

"Just a few more things to go over and then I'll get out of your hair," she says as he pulls the curtains, turning off the overhead lights and putting on one faint desk lamp.

"We can take our time," Robin says, his voice smooth as velvet, and it's nice, makes her a little drowsy (or is that the pain medication?). He gives her the whole couch, taking residence in an armchair to the right.

She flashes him a grateful smile before pulling out her notes.

"Now," she says, "let's talk about any negative press your little company has gotten in the past."

Robin shakes his head and bites back a smile, leaning down for a moment. There is no shortage of negative press when your CEO is a feisty young woman who has the subtlety of a punch straight to the nose.

"Well," he begins, unable to resist a bit of a laugh, "They say no press is bad press, yeah?"

He starts with the mild stuff - Mulan's twitter account. She's blunt with people, her political views on social and economic issues are all on display. She has attacked some reporters for going soft on the latest oil spill, and her sarcasm has been picked up by some online journalists who find her responses entertaining.

Then there's the boycotts and protests. One in particular. A few big companies had been receiving a bailout by the government, and CEOs had shown up to Washington in their private planes, ready to "grovel" for money. One of them was the CEO of Morpheus, a big oil company Mulan finds unspeakably despicable. So she'd organized a protest, mostly in their honor.

Monopoly money had been dropped from rooftops to symbolize the money that taxpayers would spend, there had been giant signs running down the CEOs salary and take home year after year, there had been facts about the oil spill and how the company who caused it had made millions participating in the cleanup of their own mess.

it had been Mulan who organized it and Mulan who'd run it, her megaphone in hand.

"I mean they couldn't prove it was all her doing, but it was, between you, me and the wall, all her doing."

Through each story, she feels the pain between her temples growing, combated weakly by that light tingling, the feeling of weightlessness that the opiates have given her, and it is odd to feel these effects while still being in pain, makes everything so much more distracting….

"I take it that this wasn't the simple meeting you were expecting," Robin ventures, amusement coloring his tone. He must have been watching her, assuming her detached expression and the odd grimace are related to Mulan's exploits.

Regina shakes her head, forces herself to focus. "It's the same with most growing companies. You should have had a public relations manager sooner. Could have saved us all a mountain of trouble."

Robin dismisses the idea immediately. "Not Mulan's style. She appreciates the fallout from her actions. She's bold, unafraid, and she's a risk-taker. And it's served her well so far."

He speaks of her with a fondness in his eyes, and there is that hint of protection, as if he is prepared to defend her methods to the death.

That confidence, that loyalty, the fact he is so willing to protect this woman and who she is, it, it just makes her job a lot harder.

It also makes her like him so much more.

She feels a surge of...affection, and that tingly floating feeling that would almost be soothing if it weren't accompanied by the jagged edges of migraine pain. Oh, the pain is dulled by the pain medication but was still very much alive. In fact it appears all the medication has really done is add a fuzzy, cotton-y feeling around the edges of her pain, exhaustion and a faint dizziness clouding and surrounding the throbbing in her head.

She grimaces.

"Mulan's not an easy client," Robin soothes. "Doesn't much care for being told what to do. I feel I should warn you that much."

Regina puffs out a breath of air. Of course she isn't, and that's why she is supposed to convince them to have her step down as CEO.

"So it appears," she groans. "We had a little warning about that, though, Robin. That's why we decided to make you the point of contact, uh, we know she trusts your opinion, and — "

Robin's eyes open wide, "Oh so you want me to communicate this news to her, on my own? Assume I like you so much that I'd gladly do this for you," he laughs bitterly. "That won't work. Even if I was brave enough to go up to Mulan and start telling her to play politician —- which by the way would go over as smooth as sandpaper — she'll know the advice is not my own, ask who put me up to it. It's best to let her feel you out herself, to see that you're a good person with good intentions. Otherwise she won't take any of your advice. Actually, otherwise, she'll do the exact opposite that you recommend."

Regina slumps back in the sofa with a sigh. The earth moves a bit as she does, tilting on its axis. She winces, shutting her eyes.

"That was our move, Robin." She probably shouldn't be so blunt, should probably clarify that it wasn't her who decided to pull off this plan, that the plan wasn't seduce and charm him into this, but she's tired, so damn tired, and dizzy, and in pain, and it's not that important anyway. "We don't really have a Plan B."

She opens her eyes to find Robin closer now, the chair he sits on scooted closer to the sofa, that look of sympathy (sympathy, not pity, _not pity_ , she reminds herself) on his face. So he's not angry at her.

"Well you tried, yeah? Surely Mulan isn't the first PR nightmare. Gold can't blame you for her. Tell me everything you need me to do and I'll say we tried our best, but she could not be convinced." He winks at her.

God, if it were only that simple.

"I'm sure this is nothing I'd lose a job over," she lies, oh she lies about that, but she makes up for it with the truth, "but this isn't just about my job. This is about a woman with integrity, a strong woman, a woman with real values and incredible creativity, taking a seat at the table with one of the top companies of the world. she could change things. She could do great things. I want to see her and this company reach their full potential."

She's being honest, though she doesn't realize til the words are out. The way he speaks of Mulan, the history she has on her - this is a good person. A good person who deserves to fly high. She hates the fact that she may need to lead from the sidelines, to be replaced by a white male (as lovely as that white male may be). But, leading from a proxy is better than not leading at all.

His lips curve ever so slightly, eyes shut as he contemplates her words.

"Well, if you can communicate all of that to her, you know, she might just listen." He runs his hands through his hair. "Not promising anything, but if she gets to know you, see you as someone with integrity, someone she can trust…"

He trails off then, clears his throat and looks quite nervous. "How would you like to come to the company picnic?"

The world is getting fuzzier, edges of objects dulling and blurring together, words blending together, and she feels as if she's on a boat, swaying precariously back and forth. She looks up at him confused.

"I...I'm sorry, I'm not feeling all that well, did you just invite me to a picnic or did I mishear?"

Robin chuckles softly, "Get to know the company. Come to our events. Get to see how we work. Get to know Mulan. Let her get to know you. If you can make your case half as strongly as you just did to me, I think you have a shot."

Oh.

It's...it's a smart idea. It's the right idea. But it also means a lot more Robin, a lot more of a man she _feels_ things for, and well, it's not exactly convenient to have to be forced to spend more time with him - even if it's her _professional_ time.

She shakes her head. "Ah. That makes sense. I'm, I'm sorry... I'm not myself."

Robin's expression turns to something resembling relief. "Please just take it easy now that we have a plan, yeah? My head hurts just looking at you."

She shakes her head and clenches her jaw, determined.

"Just a few more questions, then this will be over."

The rest of the questionnaire goes quickly, Robin is straight to the point, promises to get her all she needs to make a PR plan, and she knows he's hurrying through this for her benefit. The pain is getting worse, and she realizes that driving home may not be the best idea under the circumstances. She drops her gaze down to her phone to send a quick text to Mal.

_Hey, any chance you're free? Bad migraine. Think I need help._

When she reaches the last questions she almost groans in relief, shuffling papers and her tablet into her bag, rushing to stand up, the focus of _home_ and her bed overcoming her thoughts.

She checks her phone for a response, but Mal hasn't answered. The text hasn't been read. She must be busy. But Regina will be fine. She can handle getting home herself.

As if to prove to herself she can, Regina stands up quickly. But it's a bit too fast, and the ground shifts beneath her, everything she sees flips and spins, and there are dots behind her eyes clouding her ability to hold her balance.

She falls back into the couch, and shuts her eyes. She will not (will _not)_ look Robin in the eye. Will not see the sympathy, the pity.

"You're pushing yourself too hard," his voice is soft, could lull her to sleep.

She breathes out an exasperated sigh. No sense in faking anything now, is there?

"Why does this keep happening?" she whines, eyes screwed right, mouth turned into a scowl.

His eyes are burrowing themselves into her, a sharp stare, trying to read her, she thinks, but unable. "What keeps happening, Regina?" he asks softly.

"We keep seeing each other at...inopportune moments in my life. Where I'm...going through something."

He looks as if he's going to argue and then shuts his mouth.

"I'm not normally this messed up, you know. And my life isn't that exciting. Events like that, with my ex-husband, are rare."

She looks at him, waits for him to say something and find he's just being attentive, listening, focusing on her but not pushing. And in that damned way, it has her wanting to share more, to clarify more.

"And I haven't had a migraine this bad since...well, since the divorce." She explains, "Never thought it would be this bad again."

He still has that damn look on his face, that adorable, frustrating, beautiful look on his beautiful face. "I'm not weak," she concludes.

And finally, she has a reaction out of him. He scoffs, rolls his eyes. "That's the last thing I think you are. Marian — she used to, when there was additional stress, the headaches would be worse," Robin says delicately, "and if I've done anything to cause you —"

"NO." She says forcefully, too forcefully, but she wants him to know, wants him to understand that it's really not him. "It's not you. It's Leo."

"Ah," he says, and then ventures, "But then, I can't say I helped much, I know, I know this situation isn't easy on you, and it's just... "

She's not sure why she does it. She tells herself he deserves to know she isn't that weak — that seeing a client in a professional setting hasn't turned her into a sickly little damsel. But there's no real reason It could be the medication. It could be the migraine pain. It could be that he sounds like he cares and she just is tired of keeping everything bottled inside.

But for whatever reason, she takes out the custody petition and hands it to him.

"He's after Henry." She says simply as she lays back on the couch, head tilted up, hands rubbing her temples.

There's silence, then the sound of pages turning, and finally she hears Robin breath out _Shit,_ but she feels dazed and distant. God, all she wants to do is curl up on this couch and sleep for hours.

"He won't win," she hears him say, and oh, how innocent, how idealistic, how stupid.

"People like him always win. Eventually," she snaps back.

She stands slowly this time, grips the arm of the couch with one hand, waits the dizziness to stop.

"I'll see you at the picnic," she says, hating the shaky quality of her voice. "It was nice to see you, as always."

**.::.**

The symptoms are all there, written all over her face from the second she greets him. It's a migraine. She'd spoken of it just recently. She has migraines.

A weird sense of nostalgia creeps up inside him and stabs him deep in the heart, painful and sweet feelings bloom inside him as the memories of Marian surround him. The first time he saw her deal with the affliction, how she struggled to hide her pain, how she was on edge, wincing at every noise he made, until she finally admitted she had this thing. This recurring thing. How it wasn't a big deal, but sometimes, she had these things.

He's seen them, the migraines. Seen their power, seen their destruction. He does not underestimate them.

She is surprisingly like Marian when it comes to how she handles her illness, and so he doesn't expect Regina to admit to the pain, and is surprised when she opens up to let him know what has exacerbated it.

That bastard ex husband is trying to take her son. Because he wants to mess with her. Wants her in pain. He's a sadistic prick.

Anger swells inside him, he's not sure whether it's partially stirred by the reminders of Marian and the injustice that the world that ripped her so cruelly from him and his son, but he suddenly realizes he is willing to do almost anything to prevent Henry from being ripped from his mother.

It won't happen.

He has no idea how exactly he is going to prevent this from happening, but prevent it he shall.

The words are on his tongue, a visceral, cantankerous rant on _that man_ and how it will be a sorry day in hell before the man who practically terrorized her home just a few days ago will have unsupervised visitation of her son. He knows how to dig up dirt on people, doesn't he? He'll find something on this asshole, blackmail him, hell, Robin will lie under penalties of perjury just to get Leopold away from her son.

But voicing anger, letting one's emotions become overactive - that was a stressor for Marian, and he tries to keep cool for Regina, as he had learned to do with Marian. So he tells her he won't win, and she scoffs at him. He wants to argue, but she's in pain.

It's not the time.

However, when Regina gets up to leave, he cannot prevent himself from arguing. He stands from his seat as she stands, prepared to convince her to let him help her if it's the last thing he does.

"I can't let you drive back. You can barely walk, love."

The face she makes is one of annoyance, anger, lips curving into a scowl he hopes he doesn't have cause to see many times.

"I'm fine, Robin," she says in a groan.

He shakes his head, "It's a long drive home. Let me take you."

"I need to drive. I can't leave my car in the city."

"I'll take your car, drive it, then get a friend to pick me up."

That idea seems even more displeasing to her, and she shakes her head. "I don't need your assistance and I certainly don't need a group activity involved in getting me home. I'm not a fragile flower. I'm perfectly capable of driving myself. I don't need you, you know. "

"I'm not saying you need me, I'm saying I want to do this. I'm asking you to _let me_ do this." When she looks like she's faltering, deciding, he presses a bit more. "Marian had migraines." And she doesn't look convinced, so he adds the part most important. The part he hides.

"Recurring migraines killed Marian. I can't — you understand why it would kill me to let you leave right now?"

Regina is staring at him, looks confused, and he takes a moment to drawn in a breath.

"How did she die of a migraine?" she asks.

"Died of a brain bleed. There were symptoms, but the migraines hid them…" he trails off, of course he knew that migraine she had in those last few days wasn't really a migraine. But she was so damn stubborn.

He spends enough of his time trying to avoid thinking about her death. Over the years, little by little, he's able to get through days and weeks without thinking of her frail body laying on the kitchen floor. He had begged her, begged her to rest, but she refused, said the least she could do was make dinner, that she was not an invalid and he best not treat her as one.

And then, just like that, she fell, hitting her head hard on the kitchen counter.

He remembers cradling her as the paramedics came, being relieved when they said her vital signs were still strong. She was still alive, still breathing, and he had hope she had only passed out from the pain. Until that radiology report came back. Until that doctor with that clipboard came back and looked at Robin as if he were already a widower. Until he had uttered those words, _You should have come sooner._ The gash on her head was nothing compared to the bleed inside her brain. They would try surgery, but it had been going on a long time. There were symptoms, had to be. But she never got them checked out. She bore the pain quietly and alone. So yes, they should have taken it more seriously.

He's a bit taken out of moment as he chokes down the bitter, horrifying nightmare of a memory and it must show in his face because she looks… concerned.

"I have a neurologist. I've had CT scans. This is just another migraine." She speaks gently to him. And though she's still shaky on her feet, she walks towards him, and takes his hand in hers, making soothing strokes over his palm with her thumb. She's trying to comfort him, but she's the one in pain. It's not fair. Not fair that she's taking care of him now. Not fair that she'd act just like Marian had.

He cannot help but look at their joined hands, admire how they fit, how good even holding her hand feels. "Even so, this isn't something to mess with, so could you let me help? Even if you don't need it. For me."

She looks down and checks her phone again (she's done that a few times now), and takes a deep breath in. "You already know where I live. If you want to follow me home to make sure I get in okay, I can't stop you. But it's unnecessary."

He can't stop the smile from spreading across his face at this (very minor) victory, and opens the door to his office, motioning for her to walk through it first.

But he's opening the door to bright fluorescent lights and screeching phones, and the look on her face until she schools her features is one of pure pain.

He has had a lifetime of dealings with strong, stubborn women like Regina, and so he knows better than to tell her she needs to take a breather, to ask her if she will change her mind and let him take her home. But on instinct, while walking, he puts a hand on the small of her back, surprised when she leans into it ever so little and lets him lead her to the elevator.

As they step off into the parking lot he stills feels as if he's holding his breath, and as his hand creeps from the small of her back to gasping her hip, he feels her lean a bit further against him. He acts as if she were a bird who had flown just a bit too close, taken shelter on his arm, he won't make any sudden movement or sound to stir it, won't do anything that shakes her from this and prevents her from seeking whatever little assistance he's able to give her.

Still, he has no idea what her car looks like and as she's letting him lead the way, he keeps his voice to a raspy whisper, "Where's your car, love?"

She waves her hand in the general direction and says "The, uh, Acura. Over there," and then she adds with a tone of mock annoyance, "Do you call all of your business associates 'love'?"

He chuckles a bit. Caught. But her words are almost playful so he can't resist.

"Fran Bleu prefers I call her 'baby', I must admit."

A small sound bubbles in her, a whisper of a laugh, so he presses on, "Now, I'm not sure whether Gold has earned that particular term of affection..."

"Dearie," She chuckles. "Call him dearie. He'll love it."

Robin raises an eyebrow, and waits for her to meet his eyes.

"He uses that term all the time with me.” She explains, “he's a condescending prick."

Robin winces, "S-sorry, I didn't know, if I came off that way, please know, it wasn't —- "

"No," she says assuredly, "it doesn't exactly sound _condescending_ coming from you."

He can feel his ears redden, because, yes, he's British enough to use the term "love" without it being too lovey-dovey but also, yes, he'd be lying if there weren't some feelings behind the sentiment. And apparently, it was obvious to her, too.

"Sorry again," he mutters.

"Don't be. Making you blush is the only thing keeping me alert right now." A knowing smile falls across her lips, and it looks like there's just a hint of a flush around her cheeks, too, and it's so bloody gorgeous. _She_ is so bloody gorgeous.

"Well I'm glad I could offer my services," he says as he shuffles ahead of her to her car, opening the driver's side door for her. "Are you sure I can't drive you home? Drive your car and catch a ride back?"

He can see indecision falling across her face, and something must have changed, either the pain got worse or perhaps there little banter has made her feel less vulnerable or needy, but she looks less agitated, more weary. Regina takes a deep breath, staring at her keys, weighing them in her hand.

"If you insist, _love,_ " she bites back, giving him the keys to her car.

"Thanks, cupcake," he retorts, earning a little snort from her as she walked around the back of the car to the passenger seat. He moves quickly around the front of the car to beat her and open the passenger car door for her.

"Ever the gentleman," she sighs, climbing into the car, her eyes closing as she winces. Pain. The pain is still there. The banter might be momentarily distracting, but there is pain.

He shuts the car door as lightly as he can, but the sound still has her reacting a bit. She recovers quickly, though, and moves to rest her head against the door. God, she is in a state. How did she ever think she'd drive herself home?

Robin practically slides into his car seat to make as little noise as possible, shutting the door slowly and quietly. Perhaps she can sleep on the way back, if he keeps things quiet.

"Do you need directions?" she asks, her eyes still shut tight.

"No, it's a straight drive, I remember it," he says. He reaches into his pocket and sends a quick text to John.

_Had to drive someone home in her car. Need you to pick me up. 815 Willow Drive. Can you meet me there?_

He's barely out of the parking lot before John's answer: _Whatever you need, mate. I can be there in about half an hour. Maybe less._

The drive is nearly silent. She looks like she's edging in and out of sleep, and he's loathe to wake her. It should be a bit awkward, but somehow, it feels almost familiar. They shouldn't be in the place where they can have a silent drive without it feeling tense or uncomfortable, but it does, to him at least.

They are about ten minutes into the drive when he hears her in a breathy little whisper, "Thank you."

"It's nothing," he says, "It's more for my peace of mind than for your benefit anyway."

"I think we both know that's not exactly true." He may not know her all that well, but he knows her well enough to know conceding this point did not come easily.

In the last five minutes of the drive, she starts shifting a bit. She's uncomfortable, but he's not really sure what to say or do.

"Almost there," he says, and she grunts in response.

The moment he pulls into her driveway, she undoes her seatbelt, and he hasn't yet taken the keys out of the ignition before she opens the door, scurrying out of the car on weak limbs, clutching her stomach, keeling over. Robin flies out of the car, instantly regretting the action when he hears the door slam loudly.

But it's too late to worry about something as trivial as sound, because he finds her, one hand pressed against her garage door, bent over, vomiting onto the driveway. He gives her a second, until he no longer hears wet splats against the pavement, only hearing the dry heaves and shudders, and then he gently moves behind her, a hand wrapping around her hip.

"Let's get you inside," and oh, how he tries to make his voice a balm for the aches she's feeling. But of course, it doesn't matter how even toned and soft he keeps his tone. She's standing in her own sick, body shuddering in pain.

"Can we pretend you didn't see that?" she asks, and when he says _Of course,_ she adds, "Give me a moment, I, I don't need you to see me like this."

He's already seen enough, there's not really much to hide, but he hardly thinks pointing that out to her is helpful. So he stands back while she gets herself together, as she still faces against the garage door.

He's focused his eyes on her, waiting for her to ready herself so he can help her inside. He doesn't even notice the car park on the side of road, doesn't even notice the woman getting out of it until she's right behind him.

"Regina, sweetheart, I had a meeting with a client, I saw your texts, I came right over."

The woman rushes to her side, long, flowing blonde hair whooshing past him as she runs forward, nearly plowing over Robin in the process, her expensive heels stepping in the pile of vomit, causing her to groan.

"Oh Regina," she sighs, "I'm taking you to the hospital."

This friend of hers. She's a beautiful woman. Blonde hair, blue eyed, wearing business attire, an expensive gray dress, and there's nothing particularly scandalous about the dress (by all accounts it's quite modest in neckline and length), but it's well-tailored. Reminds him, in a way, of the dress Regina had worn the night they first met.

"I just need to get to bed, I've been ignoring this all day…."

"Well, why do you ignore the signs, why do you push yourself so hard?" Mal wraps an arm around Regina, urging her to turn around. As she does, her eyes focus on Robin for the first time. "Who's this?"

"Robin Locksley," Robin says, extending a hand to her. But Mal's hands are full of supporting Regina, and instead of shaking his hand she settles for giving a slight nod of acknowledgement after she eyes him up and down.

"Robin, this is my friend Mal." Mal raises her eyebrows but gives no response.

"We, uh, had a business meeting. He had to drive me home, " Regina explains. She looks...well, better than he expected. Her lipstick is all rubbed off, her eyes a bit red and wet, but she's holding her head high, weight slightly shifted into Mal, but otherwise...she could pass for a well person right now.

She's pretty incredible.

"Is that so?" this Mal responds, looking incredibly unimpressed. And why that tone, why that look? He certainly hasn't done anything wrong.

"It is," Robin confirms, "I had to practically beg her to let me, of course. I'm not even sure how she made it through our meeting."

Mal rolls her eyes. "Regina, for fuck's sake, I swear sometimes you have a death wish."

"You're one to talk."

Mal snorts. "Guilty as charged."

They start to walk to her front door without a word to Robin. He feels a bit useless standing there when he remembers the keys in his hands.

He rushes in front of them. "Let me get the front door for you," he says quickly. He fumbles with the keys, unsure of which goes into which lock, and how it turns. He tries a few keys without luck.

"Give them to me." Mal finally says from behind him with an impatient sigh, holding out her free hand to him.

Robin concedes defeat, handing the keys to Mal who finds the keys to both the deadlock and the door lock in record speed, much to Robin's embarrassment.

"Not so hard, was it?"

"Mal!" Regina hisses, scolding her, "Would you stop? He's only trying to help."

Mal hums in agreement, but the roll of her eyes gives her annoyance away. She ushers Regina inside, but Robin stands still outside it, unsure whether he's earned the right to go in.

"It's no bother," Robin says quickly, "I'm just glad you're okay."

Regina offers a weak smile, her eyes half opened. "I'll be fine. Thank you, Robin. Come inside, wait for your ride here."

He goes to step inside, but the sound of a honking horn stops him.

John. Thank Christ. That was about to be awkward.

"Looks like my ride's here."

"Oh," she replies, craning her neck to see where his ride is, then scowling when the motion hurts her.

Mal's jaw clenches reflexively, making her annoyance all-too-aware.

"Well, sleep well, and long," he looks in her eyes, Take a real night off, yeah?" She nods, and she looks...inviting. Like she'd want to talk longer. But Mal is there, staring daggers into him, and he suddenly feels very out of place. He turns around, heading directly to John's familiar, beat-up Toyota.

"Robin?" he whips around, all too eager to get a final look at her.

"Yes?"

"Thank you," she says with a grateful smile. "For driving me, and for... understanding. And for... for never speaking of this again, especially the uh, part on the driveway? I, I'm sorry, I know that display was not for the weak-stomached."

"You've nothing to be embarrassed about," Robin says, "I've got a five year old, remember? Roland could put that display to shame."

"Still, thank you."

"Regina, you need to sleep, not entertain company," Mal said, a hand on her back, urging her back up the stairs.

Robin gave a nod of agreement. "I'll see you at the picnic, yeah?"

Mal's eyebrows raise, but Regina has a thin smile on her face, giving a weak nod in response, "See you then, Robin."

He turns around and walks straight into John's car.

"Is that the meeting you were having today? No wonder you were so bloody nervous," John chuckles, going on about the two women he spied from the door of the home he just picked up Robin, jokes of menage trois and puns relating to "meating" their "business" filling the entire ride back to his office.

**.::.**

Her head is throbbing. Mal has already gone to the kitchen, a bottle of water in her hand as she grabs Regina's purse with the other and digs out her pills. Mal unscrews the bottle of water, takes out a bill, and hands both to her without a word. Regina isn't much for following orders, but she takes the medication without any resistance.

"What happened? You don't get these unless something bad happened."

"Leo's trying to get custody again," she says. The very words hurt her, and she feels anxiety rise inside of her. She doesn't want to talk about the custody battle, not now, not when she is dizzy and sick. "Can we, uh, rain check, this talk, until —"

"Take a few minutes off difficult topics, of course." Mal agrees. But the topic she moves onto isn't much better. "So, that's the guy, huh?" she asks with a cheeky smile.

"That's him. And I can already see you're not a fan."

"I thought...I thought he'd be better looking," Mal says, but that's not true. Mal knows Robin was a _client_ of hers, and he's attractive, very attractive, much more so than any of the clients that she and Mal had together, she knows that.

"I thought you liked taller men," Mal presses on, causing Regina to whimper.

"Can we save the mockery for a time when I don't feel like my head's about to explode?" Regina ducks, holding her head in her hands, not caring that she looks utterly pathetic.

"Fine," Mal acquiesces. "I'll order a pizza for the _little prince_ , and I'm free to handle bedtime for him, just get to bed."

Regina groans a thank you and starts to walk up the stairs.

"You know, he's not that bad though. He's a bit awkward, but he seems to care an awful lot."

"He does _seem_ to," Regina says, but the uncertainty in her voice is clear.

"He was tripping all over himself to help you," Mal continues. "I know what you're thinking, but he's not another Leo."

She's right. He isn't the suave, fast-talking, smooth operator who had fooled her before.

"I don't know why you'd waste your time with him, but he seems harmless," Mal puffs out. "Now go on and get to bed, I can almost feel that headache from here."

She reaches her room and makes a beeline for the medicine cabinet in her bathroom. And then she takes her final pill of the night, a benadryl, the perfect chaser to her pain pills. With that combination, she's bound to find a few hours of sleep, at least.

The last thing she hears before dozing off, is Henry's footsteps and excited shrieks as he rushes to greet his Aunt Mal.


	7. Chapter 7

“So.  You failed.”

After the migraine from hell, she had slept the majority of the rest of the week, her only contact with the office being to call out sick and send in the completed client intake.  Now it was a fresh, new week and she felt recovered. Better rested, but no less stressed.  She had a custody hearing to prepare for that was only a few weeks away.  The last thing she had time for was Gold’s head games.

But the moment she stepped into the office she was told he had requested a meeting with her, to discuss the Mushu account.  And then she just _knew_ she was in for a real treat.

As usual Gold did not disappoint.

She rolls her eyes, not giving a damn that he can see.  He’s being ridiculous, even for her overly demanding pig-headed boss.

“I was able to re-assess the situation and determine that all parties would be better served by a more involved, direct approach.” She tries to keep her voice from going too sarcastic, from snarling too much, but it’s clipped and tense, dripping with frustration.

“I had thought,” he quips, light dancing in his eyes now that he has her, “that perhaps your time with Mr. Locksley outside of the office would lend itself to some... _convincing_ , as it were.  But maybe those activities weren’t as enjoyable for him as I had thought.”

It’s disgusting.  Utterly disgusting.  And he knows it, if his smile is any indication.

“I’m sorry, were you hoping I could seduce our client into agreeing with our PR plan?  Was our plan really that weak?”

She sees the flicker of defeat wash across his face — she’s got him there — before the smug look returns to his face.

“And just who do you think our client is, dearie?” Gold asks, and god, that condescending tone…

She raises an eyebrow.  Wasn’t it obvious?  “Robin is our contact for our client, Mushu Enterprises.”

“And is Mushu paying the bills for our services?  Did Ms. Cheng or Mr. Locksley put down a retainer for our services?”

“We just completed the client intake.”

“We did and we didn’t.  To do a full assessment of our client, _Constellation_ , we needed to evaluate the company they are planning on acquiring.  The desires of Mushu are not our concern.” Gold snaps back at her, his eyes narrowed, ready for a fight on the subject.

“Seems like a conflict of interest.”

“Mr. Locksley and Ms. Cheng are aware who is paying the bills and that we are representing Constellation.  Unless you told either of them otherwise, they know where our loyalties lie.”  He pauses for a bit, stroking his chin, and then adds, “Of course, if believing you want what is best for them will get the job done, I have no problem with that.”

Games.  He is always playing games.  Sometimes, she feels strong enough to play along, but it’s been a restless few days and she is tired, so tired, of all this shit.

“So is this your roundabout way of saying you agree with the way I’m handling this?” she asks, annoyance dripping from each word, “By that I mean, invest my time in getting to know the company and it’s senior executives, gain their trust, so they will best listen to my advice?  Because if so, I’ll be on my way.”

Gold frowns, squinting at her, as if trying to get a read on her.

“Feisty today, are we?”  He stands from his seat and walks close to her, “You best be on better behavior, Ms. Mills.  You forget your position is rather...precarious, do you not?”

“And what does that mean?”

The look on his face is one she’s seen before.  He’s like a predator about to pounce - a half-smirk, half-scowl on his face, teeth bared, as he sneers, “Merely that I am your boss.  And regardless of what you think of your work performance, your position here is not nearly as secure as you must believe it is.  And we both know this job...ya need it, don’t you?”  He gives a flippant wave of his hand connoting that he has the upper hand, and knows it.

She will not answer him, only stares back at him.  Why does he always act like he’s holding back, like he has a trump card he has yet to play?

He holds her stare for a bit, before smiling back at her.  “That being said: yes.  Spend as much time as you want getting to know the company, if it will help.  But keep in mind all of your advice must benefit the merger and Constellation.  If there’s something you want to tweak that is at odds with this merger, you stay silent.  You understand?”

“Of course,” Regina says, her tone perfectly polite, but her eyes give away her anger and resentment.

“Good girl,” he responds, and she almost spits on him out of sheer disgust.  “Constellation has a lot of bad press, and a do-gooder organization like Mushu can only benefit them positively. The company is nothing but a reputation boost for them.  So maintaining the integrity and likeability of Mushu, well, that’s part of your job, too.  Good day, Ms. Mills.”

The realization hits her that this is probably not what Mulan envisioned when she agreed to the merger, not what she had hoped - to be a pawn intended only to give a bad company good press.

But regardless of what she wanted, this is what is happening. And she has no way of telling this to Mulan or Robin.

On days like this, she hates her job.

She returns to her office to an email from, Robin, of all people.  He’s telling her the time and place for the company picnic.

 

_Regina:_

_During Wednesday’s meeting we discussed your attendance at Mushu’s Annual Company Picnic.  The picnic will take place on June 3rd at 11 AM in Overlook Park.  I’ve provided an attachment with directions and parking information.  I hope you’ll be able to attend?  
_ _I could lie and say I need your RSVP for a catering headcount, but my motives are entirely selfish.  Hearing from you would do wonders to ease my worried mind.  
_ _I hope you’ve had the opportunity to rest and recover._

_Robin_

 

It was an odd email. It had started off so cold and detached — not at all the type of email she’d expect from someone who has seen her naked, certainly not the type of email she’d expect from someone who had stroked her back as she had vomited (she winces at the memory, disgusted with herself). But the end of the email sounded more like the Robin she knew.  She pictures him trying, tamping down his desire to be overly familiar and flirtatious, and she chuckles to herself.

God she likes him.

She fires off a quick reply:

 

_Mr. Locksley:_

_Thank you for thinking of me and sending an invitation my way to the company picnic. It sounds like a wonderful event, and a great opportunity to get to know the company.  Now, will business attire be required at this event?  I can only assume it will, given the extremely formal invitation I just received._

_Sincerely,  
_ _Ms. Mills_

_P.S. In all seriousness, thank you also for helping me get home last week.  You really didn’t have to go out of your way like that, but I do appreciate it.  I am feeling much better now._

 

Later in the day, his email pops up.

 

_One thing you should know about me, if we are to work together, is that  I believe all ladies deserve a formal invitation to any event (and yes this will be a casual one). That’s the honest truth.  It’s definitely not that I rewrote that email over and over struggling with how best to invite you to something as silly as a company picnic._

_I’m glad you are feeling better.   It was difficult to see you in so much pain.  I much prefer picturing you the way you must look now, probably rolling your eyes at this ridiculous email._

 

He cares.  It’s not there, not written in those exact words, but it’s obvious, the unspoken meaning written between the lines, glaring at her, flashing at her in a way too strong to ignore.

He cares.

And he shouldn’t care, and more importantly, _she_ shouldn’t care that he cares.  

She reminds herself that he’s just a man who is grieving his wife, and she’s just the last woman he’s seen naked (probably, that is, there’s no guarantee, but if she had to bet…).  This doesn’t have to be an issue.  It doesn’t mean he cares in _that_ way.  

Her mind wanders to him throughout the day.  It shouldn’t.  She won’t see him for almost two full weeks, and she has other, more important things to focus on.  Much more important than what she can now admit to herself, is a pretty ridiculous crush.

But still, she wonders if her email makes him smile.  If it makes him feel the way she had felt reading his.

She emails back a short joke about not quite rolling her eyes at him _yet,_ and asks if there is anything she should be aware of or bring to this picnic.

His email back only informs her it will be a standard company picnic, and then asks if she has any requests for food or drink, or has any allergies they should be concerned with (he's such a dad, she scoffs).

And then he adds:

 

_This is a family friendly picnic. My son will be there, as will children.  Your son is welcome.  He will have access to an array of all the teeth-rotting treats he can think of, plus there will be some games, and I believe a bouncy castle complete with ball pit?  Mulan has a soft spot for children.  She's a bit of a kid at heart herself.  Of course, I'd completely understand if you'd rather not mix him up in your work affairs._

 

She scrunches her nose when she reads the email and wonders for a bit if using her son to effectively warm up a client is the best approach.  And, frankly, it’s probably not a good idea for Henry to be hanging out with Robin, there should be lines, right?  Until she figures out...whatever this is.

But  — no — no, that’s ridiculous, it’s not like he’s going to be spending time with Robin.  It’s just a picnic.  On a Saturday, and she’d have to figure out childcare if she didn’t bring him, and he’ll be thoroughly entertained and out of her hair, from the sound of it.  

She responds back to tell him that she and Henry are allergy free, and she may just bring him along.

And then they are trading emails, he tells her that Henry could bring a baseball glove, just in case a game breaks out, which leads to a conversation on their sons’ favorite sports and favorite meals, and quickly emails are exchanged that have absolutely nothing to do with business.  She with every click of “send” she knows she’s making a mistake, that she’s falling in deeper, but she can’t bring herself to stop.

It’s two weeks until the picnic, two weeks where she should be detoxing herself from this man, but instead, they are exchanging emails that are borderline-professional, and much more flirtatious.

 

.::.

 

David Nolan’s office is far from elegant, far from prestigious, but it has a charm of it’s own.  It’s not a spacious office in a skyscraper, lacks the sleek modern furnishings that all the big firms tend to use for decor.

Instead, his office is on the first floor of what is clearly a townhome.  Apartments are above him, and there’s a Chinese place next door (the smell sometimes wafts into his office if the door is open too long).  There’s a couch in the reception area — brown and worn —  nearly threadbare on one of the arms, that may be an eyesore but is unquestionably comfortable.  Then there’s his office.  It clearly used to be a bedroom before the space was converted. He has dark oak bookshelves with some impressive looking law books, and a nice, mahogany desk, but with the window placement, the dimensions of the room, it just feels homey and comfortable.

His secretary must be out today (or maybe she is just on break), but the little reception area is empty, leaving her to catch her breath, to have a moment alone with her nerves before David calls her into the office.

“Come on in, Regina.”

She walks in, papers in hand, and takes a seat at the chair on the other side of his desk.

“I reviewed the Petition,” he starts, “It’s obviously a strong, well-written argument for custody.  And they’ve hired George King and Walter Midas to represent him again, so they got the best, but we expected that, didn’t we?”

“I’ve got the best,” Regina retorts in a voice more confident than she expected, “I don’t care how many awards they’ve won, I don’t care about their expensive suits or their team of minions they have scurrying around.  You’ve beat them every time.”

“I have,” David agrees, before scratching his head.  She’s surprised he doesn’t work for a bigger firm, surprised he’s decided to hang out his own shingle and struggle as he does.  He’s accomplished, graduated from a decent law school, and he just looks the part of a high powered attorney. He’s got that well-chiseled face, those traditional good looks, and a body that can make an off-the-rack suit look expensive and tailored.

But something had him starting his own firm, and for that, Regina is grateful.  

“Look, Regina, it’s going to be difficult, I’m not going to lie to you,” he pauses as if struggling to find the words, “we still have the abandonment at the restaurant, but he's explained that away fairly well.  And we still have that  _other_  incident, but remember, Henry wasn’t truly hurt.  It was only you.”

Every time that day is mentioned, it replays in her mind, as if it’s sitting there on pause, just waiting for someone to hit play again.

 

.::.

 

_It starts when Regina casually mentions that she wants Henry to know about his real father, as soon as she felt he could keep a secret.  Leopold… had disagreed. Vehemently._

_She knew before she had mentioned it that her husband was cruel, and she had been a victim of abuse before, but he was also a conniving manipulator who knew how to inflict damage without losing control.  He was fond of threatening, and throwing things, pinching, choking, leaving bruises in places not visible to the public.  He was smart._

_That night, however, when Regina brings up the sore spot that is the paternity of Henry, Leopold loses all control. The maid is still in the house, and normally he’d never start as much as an argument when she was within eavesdropping distance.  But this time, he’s unable to resist screaming at her, barking insults and threats, doesn’t hold back as he throws a pewter picture frame across the room. And then for the first time, he hits her square in the face.  Not once, but twice._

_The next day she wakes up with a swollen eye and sore cheekbones, with Leo staring over her, shaking his head as if he were disappointed in the performance of his favorite race horse.  He hands her some strong painkillers, draws the shades and tells her to take the day to rest, that Maria had Henry for the day,_

_She finds herself on Mal’s doorstep hours later, large sunglasses hiding the majority of her wounds, a warm coffee in her shaking hands._

_She had expected anger from Mal, maybe disappointment in her, best case scenario maybe she would lend a sympathetic ear, but instead when Regina takes off her glasses to show Mal the puffy, purplish bruises, the broken blood vessels that redden the whites of her eyes, she finds a sly smile spread across Mal’s face._

_“We found his trigger then,” Mal says as she soothed her hand over Regina’s broken face.  And then she outlines the plan that ultimately freed her from Leopold and got her full custody of Henry._

The plan had required waiting for an event at the right time, the right venue.  It had to be at _that_ Country Club, and as luck would have it, it seemed they went to fewer and fewer events there.  

But a few months later, it was Albert’s birthday, a family friendly event set at the club.  The event was perfect, because family functions always put Leo on edge.  In his mind, there was an ongoing pissing contest with his relatives, and he was losing.  Even though he had a commanding share of a publishing company profits were down and he had a pittance compared to his relatives who had invested wisely.  So the stakes were high,and it was necessary that Regina and Henry hang off Leopold through the night like perfect ornaments.  Of course, they hadn’t done that at all.  

_She dresses the part, wraps herself in Lily Pulitzer, bright pink and greens and full skirts, making her appear every bit the Stepford Wife.  Henry is dressed appropriately as well, in his adorable suit and little matching bowtie._

_It was a tall order for a three year old to “perform” perfectly at these events, but she usually had her ways of handling Henry.  When it was as high stakes as this, she bribed him, tired him out so he could sleep through it, would even put a children's Benadryl in his yogurt (shamefully) to quell his hyperactivity._

_But today is different.  Today Henry would not be perfect.  And she — she would be agreeable and sweet to the naked eye, but she would push Leo's buttons in the subtlest of ways._

_She starts by being just a bit too familiar with Albert.  She hugs him and wishes him a happy birthday, kissing his cheek as she did, and oh, that set him off._

_When Richard lays a hand on her shoulder and asks_ Regina, how have you been? _she deviates from her usual response.  Oh, the standard procedure was to use this generic question to brag about her wonderful husband and how he takes care of her.  But she breaks protocol, answering the question truthfully._

_As the evening goes on, she laughs at the innocent jokes at Leo’s expense, encourages his brothers to share embarrassing stories, and she lets Henry be a child.  She let's him speak up and talk and even fuss._

_She catches her husband's glare grow more threatening with each imperceptible, rebellious act she makes._

_When she excuses herself to the restroom and goes to take Henry, she lets Albert’s wife, Annette, ask why Henry has to go with her._

_“His daddy is here, we are here, no need to take him with you, right?”_

_“Of course,” she answers, and starts to stand up._

_“Take him,” Leo says through clenched teeth, “Maybe check his diaper.  We don’t need a smelly kid at the table, do we?”_

_“He doesn’t wear diapers, Leo!” Annette laughs, “For goodness sake, you bragged when you had him potty trained before he was two and a half, it’s like you don’t even know your own kid.”_

_“Oh, there’s no harm in taking Henry to the bathroom, he could use the trip.  He’s a bit hyper today.”  Regina gives.  And it was truthful - perhaps that is an understatement.  Henry is currently playing with a sugar packet, flinging it in the air and rolling across the tablecloth as if it were a car, making little noises as he does._

_“Control him,” Leo mutters under his breath, and Regina acts as if she doesn’t hear the threat in his voice and nods, tapping Henry on the shoulder, whispering that he has to go to the bathroom with her._

_“But I don’t_ want _to go!”  Henry cries, “I don’t have to go!  Why can’t I stay?”_

_It’s the perfect time._

_The perfect moment._

_So she pulls the trigger._

_“Now, now, Henry,_ Leo _wants you to go, and he knows best.”  She smiles at Leo whose eyes are wide and furious. She pretends she doesn’t see his seething anger.  “We’ll be back, if you’ll excuse us.”_

_To anyone else, calling him “Leo” to Henry instead of “your father” would sound like a slip of the tongue — if they had caught onto it at all.  But Leopold, who had sworn her to secrecy, forbade her from ever mentioning Daniel to anyone, including Henry...to Leopold the slip of the tongue was anything but.  He saw it for what she had intended — a purposeful jab at his lack of paternity._

_Somehow, he manages to keep his cool while they are at the table.  When she makes her way to the bathroom she’s sure the plan failed._

_But the moment she steps out of the bathroom into that dimly lit hallway she sees Leo there, waiting for her.  He grabs her and slams her against the far wall._

_“Bitch,” he snarls, “what the fuck has gotten into you today?”_

_“Leo,” she’s supposed to act frightened, but her son is here and he’s angry and mad and she finds she doesn’t have to act at all. “What is wrong?  What’s gotten into you?”_

_He holds a hand against her chest to pin her to the wall, but his other hand goes around her neck to choke her._

_“Don’t you_ dare _pretend you don’t know, I am that boy’s father and you will not have him thinking otherwise.”_

_“I wasn’t...I have no idea…what…please, I can’t breathe…” She really can’t breathe and her eyes are watering but it’s not solely from the painful need to breathe, it’s a bit fear, a bit desperation, because Henry is here, alone, without anyone else, and he’s scared and Annette isn’t there to calm him and hold him.  But she focuses, tells herself that this, right now, is on a security camera, and maybe this is all they need to get out of this hell._

_“Momma!! Momma!”  Noooo let go of Momma!” Henry screams, and then she feels him clinging to her leg, being pushed aside, and no, she didn’t want_ this, _this was not part of the plan.  She hated when he witnessed this type of violence, prayed these memories would be lost or buried deep inside him, never to surface._

 _Her vision is clouded and blurry from the lack of oxygen, but she could hear and feel Henry being ripped from her and flung aside.  The boy let out a loud wail, and_ fuck, _the bastard —  he had tossed him, hurt him._

_Then she felt Leo slap her across the face.  Hard._

_“Don’t you ever pull that shit again with me, you hear?”  He rasps into her ear, “The next time you pull that is the last time you take a breath.  Understand?”_

_Her son is still crying in the background, she hears_ Don’t _and_ Momma _and_ Please! _and_ Leave her alone, daddy!

_He won’t kill her, he won’t, even on a few too many glasses of wine, he isn’t that stupid.  She tells herself over and over._

_He won’t kill her._

_But she can’t breathe, her throat is hurting from gasping for air against the squeezing grip he has around her neck, and she worries he might injure her windpipe or put her in the hospital, and that won’t be good, not at all.  While she’s in the hospital where will Henry be?_

_She worries for a second that this is all a mistake._

_“Hey, what the fuck man, let her go!”_

_Her thoughts are interrupted and suddenly Leo’s arms are ripped from her, and the face of the young busboy from their table comes into her blurred vision._

_Before she can so much as take in a breath she crouches to her knees, arms open as she waits for Henry to run into them (he does, thank god he does), and she’s catching her breath in shallow, shaky pants while soothing her son’s tears._

_No harm done.  At least that is what she tells herself, over and over._

_“Go back to your job, son,” Leo warns, as Regina sputters and coughs, desperately seeking to fill her lungs with cool air, “this is none of your business.”_

_“Get away from her,” the busboy shouts back.  He’s rubbing at his nose, and later Regina will find out that Leo elbowed the boy as he tried to wrestle him off of her._

_“She’s my_ wife!” _Leo screams, “this is a private matter.”_

_“I’m calling the police,” the young boy warns, taking out his cell phone._

_“Do you know who I am, you idiot?” The smile on his face, that smug, coy smile..._

_“I’ve been waiting on you all night.  You’re friends with the senator.  So what?”_

_Regina smiles at that, can’t contain herself, Leopold hates the fact people constantly forget he’s a Blanchard as well._

_“Call them.  Go ahead.  Let them know what you are accusing Leopold Blanchard of doing.  I’m sure things will go well for you.”_

_“I saw you doing it, I’m not accusing you of anything.  I’m a witness.”_

_“We’ll see,” Leo chuckles walking back to his table.  After three steps he turns back to Regina, still on the floor with Henry._

_“Don’t come back to dinner.  I’ll tell our company that_ MY SON _fell ill.”_

_The busboy has his phone out again, ready to dial, but Regina grabs it from him._

_The kid is a bit shaken up and lets her take the phone easily.  Young.  Probably still in high school._

_“What’s your name?”_

_“Sam,” he replies, and then, as if anticipating her refusal to call the police, continues with all the maturity he can muster, “we have to call the police.  It could be worse next time.”  He looks at Henry for a moment and adds, “what if next time he hurts him?  I know it’s scary but you gotta let me—”_

_“I agree,” Regina says quickly.  “But first, Sam, can I trust you?”_

_He is still idealistic, still has that fearless quality so many young people have, and while he didn’t have a lot in his life, he has very little to lose._

_“Of course,” he pauses, “why?”_

_“There are cameras in this restaurant, right?”_

_“Yeah...I mean the owner is a bit paranoid and has ‘em everywhere.  Why?”_

_“I need you to get me a copy of the footage of what happened.”  Henry is still whimpering against her chest, and her voice is gravelly and thick, but she tries to keep it as smooth and calm as she can as she soothes a hand over the back of his head._

_“I— I don’t know where they are even kept.  But don’t worry, I’ll call the cops, they’ll get everything, it’ll be fine.”_

_“No, Sam, we need to get it now.  Before he does, or before the police get it.  He has connections, and that tape won’t make it into evidence.  So can you help me?”_

_“I don’t...I don’t even know how.”_

_“I need you to forget I ever asked you to do this, Sam.  I want you to find Ronnie.  You know Ronnie, right?”_

_“Yeah, I— wait — how do_ you _know Ronnie?”_

_She shook her head, her voice just above a whisper.  “Ronnie knows where the tapes are kept.  He’ll get me a copy.  You understand?”_

Sam didn’t just get her the tape.  He was a witness to the event, and despite the threats, despite the bribes, despite the fear they tried to put into him, he never cracks.  Never caves.

She thinks back to him often as one of the only true embodiments of good she ever did come across.  

 

.::.

 

Regina shakes herself back into the present to find David’s warm eyes resting on her, waiting for her to absorb what he’s told her.

“So what do we do?” Regina asks, “Is there anything I need to do to help my case?”

“We can speak to the social worker who watches him — I’ll handle that.  And is Henry still seeing a psychiatrist?”

“About once a month,” Regina confirms.

“Do you think he’d be any help?”

Regina absently adjusts the fabric of her blouse.  “He would,” she confirms, “but if I can avoid having Henry’s mental status or his fears of his father being interjected into open court—”

“Of course, but Regina…” he sighs, reading the file.  “Leo’s completed anger management training.  He has an array of witnesses saying what a good person he’s been and how he’s changed.  He has a counselor testifying on his behalf.  He’s actually been showing up to the scheduled visitations for the past few months.  He’s got some members from a parish...do you know he’s found religion?  We’re fighting an uphill battle and I’m afraid we have to use everything we have if we want to win this.”

“Including Henry.” Regina finishes for him.

“Yes.  I’m sorry, Regina.  He’s old enough to be a part of the process.  I know you wanted to shield him from this, but he’s going to have to be a part of it.  Maybe not just talking to the judge.  He may have to actually testify.”

It’s not what she wanted to hear, but hell, she’s put it off long enough.

“Ok,” Regina says, “I’ll talk to Henry.”

“Hey,” he says, grasping one of her hands softly, “It’s tough, but we can win this, okay?”

What choice does she have but to believe him?

 

.::.

 

Robin is a man of routine.  He wasn’t made for routine, not really, deep inside him there is a side that longs for chaos and disorganization and spontaneity.  But after Marian died, he yearned for the comfort and structure he found in routine.

Every morning, he wakes at 6:30, turns on the coffee maker and jumps into the shower.  After dressing, he wakes his son with a kiss on the forehead and a gentle shake.  He dresses him, feeds him breakfast and gives him lunch that he prepares the night before.  He prefers to drive his son to kindergarten himself, which means he spends the precious moments other parents might have to themselves in a car with a four year old that may be bouncy or temperamental but is almost always chatty and loud.  He arrives at work promptly every morning between 8:13 and 8:17 AM.  He walks into the kitchen to have a fresh cup of coffee  (black, one sugar), cracks a joke, and retires to his office.

His wardrobe is similarly predictable.  He opts for a suit four times a week, in colors of navy, black, charcoal, and light gray, on Fridays wearing something more casual, but he never gets any more wild than a patterned button down peeking out of a sweater, paired with a pair of khakis.

Lately, though, he has been straying from the routine in small, yet noticeable ways.  When a worker had left a carton of coconut creamer in the fridge, he’d examined it for a second before pouring a splash in his coffee.  It had drawn a raised eyebrow from Ruby, but she’d thought nothing more of it.

And then later in the week there had been the socks.  The same traditional “Robin” outfit of the week, boring and reliable.  And then those socks, with their bright colors and stripes coordinated perfectly with the pops of color in his tie, yet somehow looked out of place on Robin.  And was that a brightly colored pocket square?

Just as predictable as his wardrobe is his answer to invitations to a last minute happy hour.  Oh, he’s social enough, and has his fair share of work lunches and the occasional after-work party (as long as it’s been arranged weeks in advance).  But when asked if he wanted to join his coworkers for an after hours drink, his response had always been, “Sorry, I can’t.  But maybe next time.”

Which is why when Ruby walks over to his desk and invites him to join Mulan and the rest of the crew at happy hour, her eyes nearly bug out of her face when he says, “Sure, that sounds like fun.”

“Really?”

“Yes, unless your invitation wasn’t real?” Robin teases.

“No, no, it’s not that, I _love_ having you come out, it’s just, you _never_ come out.  What’s the occasion?”

“I can’t just want to spend time with my favorite people?”

Ruby raises her eyebrows skeptically.  

“Come on, this isn’t _that_ unusual.”

“Mulan,” Ruby calls out, watching the CEO passing by the office, “come in here a sec.”

Robin can’t help but feel a sense of pride when he sees the relationship Mulan has developed with her staff.  She’s honest, brilliant and creative, but sometimes what he finds most charming about her is how down-to-earth she is.  

“What’s up, Rubes?”

“Robin’s coming out to happy hour.”

Mulan looks at her as if Ruby has just told her she saw an alien.  Then, she glances at Robin.

“Without the required week’s notice?  Seriously?”

“Yes, _seriously,_ ” he says, rolling his eyes, “I’m not that bad.”

Mulan shakes her head.

“You actually are.  We can set a clock by you sometimes, you know,” she pauses, seeing he’s a bit sheepish, and then changes the subject, “you get the final count on the company picnic and square everything away with the caterers?”

Ruby smiles and slinks out of his office then, not wanting to be a part of more business talk.

“Yeah I got it,” and because now is as good a time as ever, “and uh, that public relations associate - Regina Mills?  She will be attending.  She’s wanted to get a sense of the company’s vibe and culture, and you know, this seemed to be a good venue to get to know us.”

Mulan makes a face like she just took a bite out of a rotten apple.  

“She’s not that bad, at all.  She wants to help us!” Robin defends, trying to coax Mulan out of this mood.

“She’s going to tell me I need to look like career barbie and talk with some bullshit fake British accent.”

“Okay, she will definitely not ask you to do that.”

Mulan frowns, and then exhales long and slow.  “She will tell me I have to think before I speak.”

“Probably,” Robin concedes.  

Mulan groans.  “I really hate thinking before I speak, though.”

Robin nods, “And frankly I find that one of your more endearing qualities.  But the Board, on the other hand… I mean, if we want to do this merger, we might have to do some things we don’t want to do.”

Mulan crinkles her nose up at that.  “Yeah. I know.  And the merger’s the right thing for everyone, right?  We’re going to get stock in this great company, they will work for a huge company, get better benefits than I could ever give them, there will be profit sharing and—”

Robin shrugs, “It’s your company, Mulan.  This merger is your choice.  All of us will stand by you whatever you decide.”

She waves his words off. “I know, I know.  It’s just...complicated.”

“Regina’s here to help with a bit of it,” Robin offers. “We won’t have to deal with Fran as much, so that’s good, yeah?  Regina’s easygoing, you all will get along just fine.  Give her a chance.”

Mulan looks pensive, frowning and pursing her lips just a bit.  Then she smirks, raising her eyebrows.  “Regina, huh?  She the reason you’re finally coming to life again?”

He bites his lip and rolls his eyes.  He loves Mulan, would do anything for her, but he hates the implication that he hasn’t been _living_ for a while, hates the fact Mulan is always looking for a new love interest for him, hates the fact she picks up on every subtle change about him immediately, but most of all, he hates that she might very well be right.

“It’s not like that, with her,” he settles on, after making his displeasure in the question known with a very pointed look.

“Alright, alright,” Mulan says, raising her hands in surrender, “but for the record, whatever the reason, it’s nice to see you breaking out a bit, showing a little more of who you really are, you know?  I’ll play nice with this _Regina_.  Promise.”

She walks out of the office at that, flashing a smile before she steps out the doorway, leaving Robin with his thoughts.

After Marian died, Roland needed a mother and a father, and Robin has tried, he’s tried, goddamn it, to be both.  He put away the part of himself that took risks, that was wild and bold, even though that was part of the fabric of who he was.  A child, especially a child without the luxury of two parents, didn’t need that.  He needed safe, reliable, dependable.  But in trying so hard to become that, he’d lost a bit of himself.  And now, he feels like he’s rediscovering that and becoming reacquainted with the person he was before Marian’s death.  

But he had been with Marian from high school to her death.  Who even was he, without her?

 

.::.

 

As it turns out, the picnic is on Henry’s second day of summer vacation.  The last day of school is always on a Wednesday, for some reason, and Regina generally takes that Thursday and Friday off, spending a four day weekend with her son while she lets him indulge in too many video games, comic books, and all the television he wants.  Monday is always the start of his first of many summer camps, after all, and he doesn’t get the opportunity for unstructured play much at all.

It’s become somewhat routine for them to indulge in a lazy long weekend of mother and son bonding, and she’s grateful for this time every year.

But this year the merger is taking precedent, and there was an end-of-the-school year party at his friend Nathan’s on Thursday, so Henry didn’t miss their usual ritual.  But when he’d heard she would not be able to take off on Friday, he’d pouted.  Even if she let him stay over at Nathan’s.  Even if they got to play video games and eat junk food and trade comics, he was still upset.

It pulls at her heart a bit, sometimes, realizing that for all Henry has grown, for all he acts like he wants nothing to do with her kisses goodbye in front of his friends, for as independent as he is in his young eight years, he’s still _her boy._ He still enjoys spending time with her, and it’s both wonderful to know and heart wrenching, because she’s not in the position where she can spend as much time with him as she likes, and she worries he may be starved for her attention but unable to tell her.

“I have to go to this company picnic on Friday,” she says, watching his face fall a bit, “But would you like to go with me?  I’ll call out from work for the morning, and we’ll stay in, I’ll make pancakes, and then you can come to the picnic.  I heard there will be children there.”

“You _have_ to go to a picnic?” Henry gripes, adorable pout in his face, “Picnics aren’t work.  Picnics are for fun.”

“Not _this_ picnic. This is for one of mommy’s clients.  I have to work the whole picnic and talk to people about boring business things.  But I hear the picnic will be fun for kids, and there should be a bouncy castle and other games…”

“Bouncy castles are for babies,” he corrects, crossing his arms, “I’m not a baby.”

She sighs, closes her eyes and tries to compose herself.  She won’t scold her little boy, not when he has every right to be disappointed in her yet again. “I’m sorry, Henry, I am, but I have to go, and if the party is boring, at least you’ll have hotdogs and burgers and potato chips and….I’ll let you bring the ipad and play with it the entire day.  Okay?”

He brightens a bit at that, gives out an _Okay…_ and then asks, “Do I know anyone there?”

“Um, do you remember my client Robin? He came over to the house that one time?”  She doesn’t like to bring up that day, as it was a terrifying one for Henry, but he had asked, and he was likely to recognize him.  

“Yeah I remember him…” Henry pauses, then finishes his thought, a hint of skepticism dripping from his words, “he _seemed_ nice.”

“He is,” she assures, “and he works with nice people, and he was sure to tell me you were invited.  Okay?”

Henry nods, but his eyes are still slanted, face still screwed up as if he doesn’t quite believe her, as if he’s not quite happy with this turn of events. Then Regina adds, “We’re going to spend all Saturday and Sunday together, and you can request we spend the day however you want.  Deal?”

“We can drive Go Karts?”

Regina chuckles a bit, of course he’d pick the semi-dangerous activity she had so cleverly avoided for the past two years, because the age limit was firmly set at eight years old.  And of course, now, Henry is old enough to drive them.  “Fine.  But if you break something, don’t expect a pity party.”

“I won’t break anything, except maybe the course record.” Henry taunts, looking up at her defiantly.

“All this talk of speeding through the course is not helping your case,” Regina says sternly, biting back a smile at her adorable, confident son.  How did she ever raise someone who is so comfortable in his own skin, so happy, so self-assured?  With everything that has happened he should be a mess by now, shouldn’t he?  And yet...he bears no scars from his three years with Leo, none that she can see, anyway, and appears to have no issues from the custody battles, Leo’s accusations and taunts,the confusion and mess that is his paternity....    There must be an angel watching over him, she thinks.  An angel in the form of Daniel, sheltering him from the consequences of her bad choices.

But before she can dwell too much on any of that, Henry pulls her back to the present when he wraps his arms around her in an unexpected, a tight hug.  Regina closes her eyes and holds him tight, taking a moment to savor it, knowing there aren’t many years left where her son will give her this type of affection freely.

But for now, she can soak up the knowledge that her son seems happy, healthy, and well-adjusted. Despite everything.

 

.::.

 

For the past several years, Robin has been in charge of coordinating Mushu’s events.  In the early years with the company, it was because there was no one else to do so.  Mulan, for all her good qualities, has never had the patience to coordinate a party, and so she designated him to be the party planner himself.  During their first year of business, that role entailed hitting up the liquor store for beer and wine, organizing a sort of potluck with his employees and ordering a few pizzas.

But as the company grew in both success and employees, Mulan found celebrating was ever more important, and the annual party became bigger, more extravagant, and frankly, more complicated.  Now they hire an outside company to deal with catering, equipment rental, and the like, but Robin is still the one in charge of coordinating, letting them know the headcount, and of course, he is in charge of communicating whatever crazy idea Mulan has come up with this time.

Every year Mulan has some half-cocked idea to outdo the previous year.  This one is no exception, especially as the picnic has been extended not just to family, but to other business connections the company has made over the years, and their respective families.

That’s the reason the serene park where they once grilled burgers and hotdogs with a random tournament of cornhole, now looks like a carnival fairground.

Everything has gone exactly to schedule, and there’s been quite a bit to keep up on.  But still, he’s nervous for a reason he can’t quite explain, until he sees Regina walking down the grassy slope towards the company picnic.

Regina and _Henry,_ it seems.  She wasn’t sure on whether he’d show up, said he might rather have a playdate with a friend, but it seems he’s decided to come along anyway.  Robin finds himself pleased that she's invited her son into his world.  He shakes himself.  It is just a bloody company picnic and it's her job to be here.  He shouldn't be touched that she's chosen to bring her son along.

Robin finds himself jogging up the grassy hill to meet them.

Regina looks...stunning, as always.  She’s got sunglasses on that hide her beautiful eyes (he’s missed looking at them, and when he finds himself thinking of this, he curses himself for being such a sap), but she’s in a soft, casual navy dress that flares a bit at the waist, paired with sandals with a bit of a heel. Her hair is styled and draped over one of her shoulders, little dots of white in her ears that are probably pearls, and god, she’s far overdressed for a party with an inflatable waterslide and a volleyball net, but that’s Regina, isn’t it?

“Hey,” he says when he reaches her about halfway between the event grounds and the road.  Her ruby lips part into a smile, and he looks down at her son.  “Henry, right?  We’ve met, briefly.”

“I remember you,” Henry says quickly.  He focuses on Robin and throws him a semi-suspicious glare before he is too distracted by the festivities visible over Robin’s shoulder. “Is _all of this_ your party?”

“Yes, we were expecting maybe a bouncy castle and maybe a rousing game of ‘Guess how many jellybeans are in the jar?’, we did not expect the circus to be in town.” Regina teases, smirking from behind those bloody sunglasses.

“Not a circus, not quite,” Robin corrects, “I mean, there is a juggling clown, but I said absolutely no to the petting zoo.  Though, we did go a bit overboard with the inflatable slides and the moonbounce…” he turns around, and, truly, from this view, on top of the hill with the picnic below, it does look a bit over the top. “And of course, we had to get the rock wall…”

“Can I climb on the rock wall, Mom?  I brought my own money!”  He looks up at Robin and then slides his hands in one of the pockets of his cargo shorts, as if he’s searching for his wallet.  “How much does it cost?”

Robin laughs, “Your money’s no good here, Henry.  It’s all free, as a way to say thank you for people like your mom.”

Henry’s eyes go wide as he looks at the spectacle that is this year’s party and then just breathes out a simple, “Awesome!”

He turns back to Regina, who nods and waves her hand, “Go on, but no junk food until you have lunch.  Especially if you are going to be riding up and down those slides.  I don’t need last year’s incident at the amusement park to be repeated, do you hear me?”

He groans an exasperated “Moooo-oommm” but promises to lay off the junk until lunch, again thanking Robin before he runs off.

“Amusement park incident?” Robin asks, biting his lip and raising his brow at her.

“His friend Nathan had a birthday and Nathan’s dad thought the kids deserved to eat whatever their hearts desired.  Chilli cheese fries.  And a funnel cake.  And a slushie.  Not the best combo before going on a ride where you swing in a circle for 4 straight minutes, is it?”

Robin grimaces and then snickers.  “Boys.  When will they learn?”

“Judging from the age of Nathan’s dad, I’d say...never?”

They are walking towards the picnic grounds now, and he’s fighting an urge to put his hand on the small of her back and help guide her.  It’s not entirely because he wants to touch her (god, he wants to touch her) but also because she’s in heels and walking on soft grass, and yes, they appear to be on a platform (wedges, Marian would call them, he thinks), but it’s still uneven ground and it’s still downhill, and he doesn’t quite know how she’s able to balance so well.  Somehow, she does.

“So this picnic…,” Regina repeats as they walk towards the event, “It’s, uhhh….”

“It’s ridiculous, I know,” Robin admits, “But Mulan, she loves it.  Loves us all coming together as a family, loves seeing everyone’s kids, and she _wants_ everyone here.  So we bribe them to all come together with free fun and treats.  We’re not proud of it, but there’s no harm done, yeah?”

They are in the shade of a tree now, just a few feet from a buffet table, and she takes a moment to look around at the people and activities.  

“Constellation would never do something like this,” she mutters.

He might have had a perfect response to that, but she’s taken off her sunglasses now, and good god, her eyes are beautiful in this light, all caramel and rich chocolate with flecks of gold shimmering around.  

“Robin?”

“Hmm?”

“I asked if you were planning on introducing me to Mulan now or later?”

“Uhh, give her a second,” Robin chuckles, “She’s a kid at heart.  She uhh…” his eyes wander around the picnic quickly, searching for the places where she’s most likely to be at this time of day, and spots her easily.  He points over in her direction.

“Do you see that rather large child who is about to go down that slide?  That is our CEO, and as you can see, she’s very busy with pressing matters right now, and I wouldn’t want to disturb her.”

“Ahhh…” Regina takes a moment to watch her, maybe to  see how she interacts with the kids of her friends and coworkers, and a smile spreads on her face.  When she turns back to Robin, he’s staring at her.

“What?”

He clears his throat and curses himself for being so obvious, and then he’s just honest. “Nothing, it’s just, you, uh, look really nice today.”

She does.  Navy is her color, obviously.  Or maybe it’s not.  But she wore a navy dress when they first met, and frankly, the color on her is always going to bring him back to that day, if only for a brief moment.  And he’s not going to think she looks anything less than extraordinary when he thinks back to that night.

“Do I?” she drawls, “I suppose I’m a bit overdressed for this affair..oh god, is that a water slide?”

Robin grimaces, “I should have let you know to bring your swim suit, or, uh, Henry, too, it was a last minute addition, you see.”

“It’s probably for the best you didn’t, I never would have believed there was an actual reason for a bikini and would have suspected ulterior motives.” She gives him a pointed stare and then smiles when he feels his cheeks redden.

“I never joke about necessary articles of clothing, Miss Mills.  It’s something I pride myself on.”  It feels like flirting, but is this flirting?

When she gives him a light jab to his side, he is sure it is.

“Come on,” she says, grabbing his arm, “introduce me to your coworkers.”

It’s remarkably easy, spending time with Regina.  She stays at his arm as they mingle and eat, makes pleasant conversation with everyone from executives to secretaries to family members.  He hadn’t expected that, assumed she’d branch off on her own, but it seems she’s decided she’d best to get to know everyone through Robin.

It’s been a long time since he’s done _this,_ gone to an event with someone at his hip.  The last time he did introductions, in fact, it was someone literally _on_ his hip, when he forced himself out for the sake of the company and introduced a soon-to-be-two year old Roland to his work family.  He enjoys this, introducing some fresh new blood to his gang.  It feels natural, too, with her, like something just clicks.  

And Regina, well, she is good at her job.  She’s gotten his coworkers to open up and talk about their job without ever realizing they were sharing details of the business. Just by being warm and inviting.

It’s...maybe not the job she was born to do (she’s not as naturally social as he is, though it’s hard to notice, after awhile he can feel an edge of uncertainty in her voice, and well, while talking to new people tends to excite him, it seems to drain her just a bit), but she’s _good_ at it.  She describes her role and what she wants to do with the company succinctly, and then has a knack for getting others to talk about themselves, luring them into a sense of comfort.  It probably is a skill she’s honed at _both_ of her jobs.

By the time he makes his way to Leroy, the IT tech, Robin’s got that pleasant buzz, the high he gets from several good conversations amongst friends.  Leroy, it seems, is also on a high, but it appears to be alcohol induced.  Whatever the cause, he seems more approachable and friendlier than he’s seen him in awhile.

“Leroy, I wanted to introduce to you Regina Mills— “

Leroy’s eyes light up, he jerks his beer forward so it spills a bit, extending his non-beer holding hand out in an offer for a nice shake.  His lips curl into a wide toothed grin and he bellows out, “Regina! Good to see ya!  We all were wondering when Robin was finally going to get out there again.  Seems like he struck gold right away.”  

“Leroy, she’s our public relations liaison.”

“You guys aren’t dating at all?”

Robin swallows hard, wondering what exactly it is that makes Leroy jump to such a conclusion, and tries to speak, but can’t exactly think of a thing to say.  His cheeks flush as he thinks of Marian, with her gentle smile and sing-song voice.  And suddenly, he’s rather upset with Leroy.  At least, he thinks it’s Leroy that has him so angry.  Robin’s jaw clenches and his soft eyes turn icy and harsh.  Leroy’s face screws into a confused stare, and he opens his mouth but is interrupted before he can even speak.

“That's right,” Regina jumps in for him, taking Leroy’s hand, “but I’m glad to meet you, Leroy.  And what is it you do?”

Leroy takes a moment to stare at them, tilts his head as if about to ask Robin something, before changing his mind and answering the question.

There’s some light banter and chit chat between Regina and Leroy, and it’s all very innocuous, but Robin’s cheeks still burn, anger bubbling inside him, threatening to boil over at any second.  He holds his breath, counts to ten, and focuses his energy on releasing anger he knows he has no right to be holding onto.

Leroy excuses himself to get more to eat, and Robin gives what he hopes is a polite nod and a smile, and then Regina wraps a hand around his forearm, tugging him gently in the direction of the picnic benches, not the tables in the shaded tent, but the old, abandoned, lonely picnic table under a willow tree.  He puffs out a breath of air in protest, but follows her.

“What’s wrong?” She whispers into his shoulder, a hand moving to his back, rubbing slightly, meant to pacify, to subdue the emotions threatening to spill out from him.

He shakes his head silently.  “It’s nothing.”

He’s sure he won’t answer her, she won’t get him to talk about this, but as resolute as he is, he sits down on the picnic bench, watching as she lifts one beautiful leg up and over the attached bench of the picnic table, the pair following the same motions, and then sitting and scooting next to him.

He feels her hand on his back, a warm welcome of physical contact, and it would probably succeed in draining this foul mood out of him, but he thinks about how others may perceive the touch and he’s angry again.

“You don’t have to do this,” he mutters gruffly.

“Do what?”

“It’s your job to make everyone feel comfortable and at ease today.  I’ve seen you.  You don’t have to do that with me.  You’ve already won me over.  I trust you.  You can just be.  You don’t have to do this.”

“I’m not doing this because it’s my _job,”_ she grins, as if he said something adorable and naive, “I think we’ve reached the point where we can admit our relationship is not just a professional one.  I don’t think it was exactly in your job description to drive me home a few weeks ago...or the time before that, either.”

He warms at her words, likes knowing she doesn’t just see him as another business associate, another client to appease.  So despite his anger, his mouth twitches, tremors, and a weak smile spreads for a moment and then is wiped away when he thinks of what this warm feeling may possibly mean.

“But I will tell you, I’m very good at getting people to talk when they don’t want to,” she teases, “so if you don’t tell me willingly, I’ll have to sneak it out of you.”

“Leroy was being a bit of an ass back there is all.”

“How so?” she asks, “I must have missed it, some sort of inside joke or—”

“To think I would be so cavalier about someone new?  When he knew Marian, knew her well, to think I’d just casually stroll around this picnic, and he— he _knew_ her, Regina, knew _us,_ and he’d believe I’d just introduce him to my new date at _this_ event, and...”

He’s not making sense and he knows it.  Leroy didn’t accuse him of anything, he just made an assumption.  But the second he mentioned it Robin realized this day was so much like Marian’s first picnic, and the slightly euphoric feeling of the day was wiped away by something dark and heavy, an emotion he couldn’t quite place.

“What do you mean, you would be so ‘cavalier’ with someone new?” She asks, her hand drops from his back and wedges between them, brushing against his leg before moving it to her own.  Her demeanor shifts and changes as she ever so slightly creates space between them.

“Marian was important to me,” Robin starts, “he was acting like she…” There’s no point in continuing, it’s all a jumbled mess.

“No he wasn’t,” she whispers, “you know that, Robin.  He thought you brought a date to the picnic and he was happy for you.”

“I wouldn’t just bring a _date_ here.  This — this isn’t first date stuff.  This is important.  This day is important.  He knows that.”

“What makes it important?” she asks ducking to find his eyes, he’s looking away from her, trying to avoid her glance, and he knows it’s childish.  He straightens up and clears his throat, trying to organize his thoughts through a mess of emotion.

“This is a family event.  I took Marian to this every year.  It’s where most of these people first met her, how everyone got to know her, to love her.  She loved this picnic.  She helped me organize it.  When they became more extravagant I’d complain that Mulan was losing her mind, but Marian, Marian loved it.  And she was, well, she would light up the whole day.  I don’t want people thinking I’ve forgotten that and I’ve forgotten all about her.”

“I doubt people think that,” she says, “and it’s been a long time.  Years.  You’ve mourned, Robin.  I know the time isn’t quite right, now, and certainly you don’t want this with _me_ —”

“That’s not it, not at all.  It’s not you, I don’t want you thinking it’s you.”

She nods as if she understands, but does she?  

If he’s being honest with himself, he’s not upset that people assumed he was dating again, or because people may have assumed he had moved on. He’s angry because until the moment when Leroy spoke, he hadn’t thought of Marian at all.  He had been having a genuinely good time with Regina, so much so he forgot to use this day as another homage to Marian, another day that he’d experience that terrible longing and make those impossible wishes in whispered breaths into the hot breeze.  It’s hard to admit all of this to himself (he hates himself for not even thinking of his late wife on this day), much less to Regina, but he can’t have this beautiful woman thinking that he’s insulted to be thought of as her date, so he needs to make this clear.

“I think the real reason why I’m upset, is—”

“As I was saying, when the time comes when you actually want to move on, you will have nothing to feel guilty about. Trust me.”

There’s something in the way she says it that makes him think she knows what she’s talking about, and he wants to know more.  But she’s placed the emotion he’s been feeling and not able to articulate: _guilt._  And Regina, for all her insight, couldn’t possibly know that it is his years of mourning should make him feel guilty, and not the fact his mind was free of her memory for a few hours.   

Thoughts fly back to Marian now, though.  That memory burned into his brain of his wife lying in a hospital bed with that sincere, serene smile that she always wore just for him.   She had been hooked up to a few IVs before the surgery, measuring vital signs and waiting to be taken in and sedated when she handed him a long letter written on pages ripped from a cheap spiral notebook.  

 _Just in case,_ Marian had told him, _this is everything I want for you and for Roland.  All spelled out_.

It turns out he had made a mockery of her last wishes.

“I should apologize for this little meltdown of mine,” he finally settles on, running hands through his hair in a desperate attempt to brush out the guilt-inducing memories. “I’m normally quite gregarious at these events.  Maybe I just need a drink. I should look at this situation positively: at least Leroy thinks I have good taste in women, right?”

He’s turned to smile at her, and good god, looking at her is like looking into the sun, he’d better stop, or he’s going to get hurt.

But he stares anyway, soaking up the smile she gives him in return. For a moment everything else falls away and all he sees is the woman who fell into his life, who seems to know him far too well, far too soon.

“DADDDY, I MISSED YOU!”

An object hurls onto his back, causes him to lurch forward and knocks the wind out of him.  Arms and legs are wrapped around his body, and Regina is collateral damage in the attack, sneakered feet kicking between the two of them, forcing her to shift a bit, not that she appears to mind.  She’s looking at the flying monkey on his back with bright eyed amusement dancing in her eyes, a hint of appreciation for the mischief maker behind them.

.::.

Of course his son would be absolutely adorable.

Of course.                 

It’s enough that he’s charismatic at parties, observant of her needs, it’s enough that he’s kind, and respectful, has a reverence about his late wife that hits her in the gut, reminding her of all the ways why she won’t have someone like this ever again in such a simple, sweet way.  It’s enough that he’s welcomed her into what appears to be his family, that he speaks about her and to her as if she were more like a nuclear physicist than a public-relations-assistant/part-time-prostitute.  

But sure, why not make this worse?  He has to have a son who looks like he stepped out of a Cheerios commercial.  And watching them together, watching his son laugh as Robin pretends not to know who is on his back for a second, it’s like a punch to her ovaries.  She’s through with having babies (thinks she can live with that, despite the twinge of longing she has occasionally, but no, she can’t, that time is done), but there’s something about children of that age that makes her nostalgic and sappy.

“Roland!  You can’t just jump on people like that without warning them.  You could have hurt me.  And you may very well have hurt Miss Regina.”

“Who’s Miss Regina?”  The child is so wrapped up in his father he hasn’t even noticed her.  Maybe she should be offended, but instead it’s another stab at her heart, to see how close the two of them are.  How much this little boy obviously adores his father.

“Regina is the person sitting next to me, who I believe you just kicked in the arm,” he says, reaching behind him until he gets a good grasp on Roland’s arms, then swings Roland quickly to his front, placing him in his lap as he gives him a tickle.  Roland squeals and kicks, but this time Regina is out of the line of fire.  “And I believe you owe her an apology.”

She laughs along with Roland as Robin tickles his son.  And suddenly, the feeling pops up that she’s tried so desperately to stomp out. It’s an indescribable, pulsing impulse to grab him by that damned light blue polo shirt (the one that brings out his eyes just perfectly, that is fitted to compliment his lean, muscular physique) and kiss him, hard.  

Perhaps watching a man be a good father is her little kink, because there's certainly something sexy about him now, in this moment.  She doesn’t have experience with these types often, and given what she is, she is unlikely to ever have _that —_ the perfect father, the adoring husband (he was an adoring husband, she can tell he was).  She sold her ability to have that kind of man and that kind of family long ago, and maybe that is where this painful longing comes from. Maybe her body and her mind crave something she knows she can’t have.

“I’m s-s-s- _Ah_! SORRY, Miss Regina!” Roland shrieks between giggles.  When the words are out Robin stops tickling, letting the boy sit in his lap, meaning that Regina gets a closer look at his son’s dimpled smile.  

Fucking hell.

“Regina, as I’m sure you’ve gathered, this is my son, Roland.  Who was supposed to be playing with his Uncle John today.  Where did he go?”

“He told me to run and surprise you while he got me a hot dog!” he exclaims, and then, “Hi, Miss Regina!”

“Hello, Roland,” she says through a broad smile, “You know, if it’s alright with your dad, I’d like you to call me Regina.”  

Robin smiles and says to the boy “Regina it is, then.”

“So, Roland, are you having fun at the picnic?”  Oh, that question needn’t be answered, but Regina asks just the same.  Roland is every bit the picture of a boy at play, sweat soaked curls, apple-red flushed cheeks, wide eyes and loud smile, the smell of suntan lotion radiating off him.

“Yes!  I went on the big slide twelve times!”

“That one?” Regina asks, pointing at the big slide over on the right side.

“Yes!  And you know what else?  I was in a potato sack race!” He turns to his father and gives him an adorable stern look, and adds, “you need to come play more games, Daddy.”

“I will, my boy, but I need to talk to people first, yeah?  Like always.”

“Yes, but Daddy did you know Phil is here?  And I met two new friends today at the race! One is named Andrea and one is named Henry!  Andrea is in third grade and Henry is in fourth!”

The mention of her son (not many kids named Henry these days, and it would be like him to join in a race, he’s a joiner, afterall) shouldn’t surprise her, Henry’s very social and it’s not _that_ big of a party, but there’s something unexpected about hearing his name from Roland’s lips.

Regina and Robin exchange looks, then Regina glances down to the hyper, peppy child next to her and asks, “By any chance, is this Henry wearing a blue shirt and tan shorts?”

Roland purses his lips and screws his eyebrows together.  “ _You_ know Henry?”

“Wanna know a secret?” The boy nods furiously as he temporarily morphs into a human bobblehead.  “Henry is my son.”

“Really?”  He looks up at his father and smiles shyly.  “I want to play at Henry’s house, Daddy!  He has an air hockey table _and_ a tire swing.”

Robin sinks those perfect teeth into his bottom lip before wetting it with his tongue.  “Roland, we don’t just invite ourselves over to people’s houses,” he says, tousling his hair. “Why don’t you do a little sneak attack on John over there, and I’ll watch?  I’ll be back to play with you later.”

The boy follows Robin’s pointer finger, and finds this “John” they’ve been talking about.  It appears he’s the rather large man standing by the coolers with his back facing them.  He’s laughing loudly with a few other men, a hamburger in one hand and a beer in the other. Roland spots him and smiles, presses a finger to his lips and _Shhh_ ’s the adults, as if they were going to give away this very precarious, top secret operation.

Roland walks up behind John, exaggerating every movement in some attempt to look sly and clever.  She catches Robin out of the corner of her eye, he’s turned himself around on the bench, elbows propped on the table behind him, and he’s just as mesmerized as she is, watching his son as he successfully sneaks behind John and screams what sounds like _BOOO!_

John startles, the beer spills all over him, the hamburger drops.  There’s no anger, no yelling or even a word of frustration.  Roland doesn’t have to grow up with that.  Lucky kid.  Instead, bear hugs, nuggies, and pats on the back are his reward for a successful prank.  

John scoops the boy up as the crew walks towards the tented area of the picnic, resuming babysitting duties once again, it seems.

“So,” Robin drawls after a moment of silence, “that’s my son….”

“I see,” Regina chuckles, “quite a big personality for such a little guy.”

“He’s alright,” Robin says, his toothy smile saying no, he is much _more_ than alright.

She suddenly feels guilty for keeping him from his son on this day for so long.  And...Henry is entirely self-sufficient, but she should touch base with him, make sure he gets something to eat.  So perhaps now they should part ways.  At least, until there’s a good time to reconvene and meet the rest of the workers

“I should check on Henry,” she sighs. “And you should go play with your son.  He seems very anxious for your attention.”  

He nods, “I’ll just check on him and make sure his Uncle John isn’t just feeding him candy and pretzels.”  He leans forward to stand up, pivoting on the edge of the bench, looking a bit lost.  “But we’re going to be under that tent eating for a bit, and I bet your child hasn’t had a proper meal, so you’re welcome to join us.  I still need to introduce you to Mulan.”

He’s not really reaching.  It’s true that she needs an introduction to Mulan.  But it feels like a request to spend more time with her, and even though she’s a bit more touched than she should be (he doesn’t want anything more than her body, that is clear, if the talk of his late wife is any indication), she’s also giddy and itching with the need to tease him.  It would be a lot easier to let these things go if he didn’t react so perfectly to being teased: he blushes, gets nervous and fidgety, and it’s a sweet sight to her eyes, especially when he’s usually so confident and naturally at ease.

She raises an eyebrow and asks _Is that your way of inviting me to lunch with you?_ and it works.  The awkward (yet adorable) stammering and blushing blooms up in him, and she can’t resist a victorious smile from emerging on her own face as he struggles to tell her he _didn’t mean it that way._

God, he’s cute when he’s flustered.

She really shouldn’t be doing this. They are supposed to be friends, and this is dangerously close to flirting. At bare minimum, it’s bringing up the fact he’s attracted to her, and that’s not exactly very friendly, is it?  

She waves his explanations off, tells him, _Of course_ he _didn’t mean it that way_  and _No offense taken,_ and then excuses herself to go check on Henry.

.::.

She finds him on the rock wall, is able to make it to see him just reach the top, able to see the look of pride and accomplishment he has at reaching it, able to find his eyes and smile and clap for him when he looks down and around.

Henry looks happy.  She had felt a twinge of guilt for taking him here (even seeing how much there was to occupy him) and not spending time with him, especially during _their_ time, the few days they have to themselves.  But he’s having fun, he’s enjoying himself, if the wide toothy grin he flashes is any indication.

She watches as he is lowered to the ground, fighting to free himself of straps and safety harnesses a bit too hurriedly, nearly succumbing to frustration before a kindly man helps him step out of the last strap.

And then he runs to her with an exuberant yelp of _Mom!,_ eyes bright and shimmering with joy, face flushed and skin glistening with the sweat of the day’s play.

“This picnic is _awesome!_ ” From here she can see his lips are a bit redder than usual, teeth lightly stained the same color red, and well, it would appear he had something to eat, though from the looks of it, it was nothing nutritious.  “Did you see me climb?  I made it to the top.  Not everyone can make it.  Even some of the adults can’t make it.”

“I saw, I saw.  You made it look easy.”

“You should try!” He begs, pulling her to the small line that’s formed.

“Henry, I’m in a dress.  There’s no way I can do the rock wall in a dress.”

He’s about ready to argue when he must think of the mechanics of his mother up high in a dress, and then he scowls.  “Oh.”

He prattles on about his day, about the things he did and the people he met, about a scavenger hunt and races and please can he go on the water slide?  It’s only water; his clothes will dry.

She walks him over to the food while he talks, promising to play at least one game or possibly even go down the slide.

“What have you had to eat today?” She asks, and his face screws into something combined with remorse and reluctance, tongue clicking on the roof of his mouth.

“Alright, I’m fixing you a plate before you pass out from whatever sugar high you have.”

Henry whines and mutters something about being able to fix his _own_ plate of food, but Regina just gives him a pointed stare in return.  

“Why don’t you grab those two seats on the end of that table over there and we’ll eat and you’ll tell me how we are going to spend our day tomorrow?”

She’s going to eat alone with her son and give Robin time to enjoy the picnic.  They can meet up later, right before the picnic’s end.  Give him space.  This day means something to him, after all, and she really shouldn’t be taking time away from it.

She’s lost in thought, desperately trying to put away the past, to release old guilt that has resurfaced ever since Robin spoke about his late wife, so she can return to Henry and give him the undivided attention he’s entitled to, when someone speaks behind her.

“So you work for Gold.  What’s that like?”

She had pictured her conversation with Mulan several different (slightly scripted) ways, but never had she expected being surprised into a conversation while loading up two plates of food.

If she wasn’t distracted and flustered, she would have had a much more polished response to such a question.  But Mulan’s caught her when she’s distracted and frankly, her head’s not in the game.  

“Have you met Gold?” she asks, and Mulan gives her a nod.  There’s something in her eyes Regina picks up on, that hint of mild annoyance with him.  Before she can remind herself that you do not trash your boss to your client, Regina exhales slowly and says, “Well, working for him is about what you’d expect from a man like Gold.”

But her honesty pays off and Mulan shouts a little _HA!_ And then she looks...more relaxed.  

“So you’re supposed to tell me what to do.”

Mulan is in short little jean shorts and a red spaghetti strapped top.  Her hair is in a ponytail, her skin is glistening with sweat.  She’s been playing all day.  What’s more, visible tan lines on her shoulders indicate this isn’t the first day she’s had out in the sun this season.

Robin is right.  She _is_ a child.  The future member of the board of directors of a Fortune 100 company is an absolute child.

Regina loves it.

“I’m supposed to offer you advice, not tell you what to do,” Regina corrects, “I’m not about to boss around the CEO of a startup _this_ successful. I may be good at my job, but my ego has limits.”

“Not so sure your boss’s ego has any limits,” Mulan counters, tilting her head skeptically. “He credits himself for everything. I met him at this fundraiser once.  He was a complete asshole.”

“He’s an acquired taste,” Regina settles on, flashing Mulan a look as if to say she agrees with her, “but I must admit he usually gives good advice, personality and hubris aside.”

Mulan points to Regina’s two plates.  “So are you extra hungry, or does one of those have to go to someone?”

“My son, over there,” Regina points to Henry, who apparently has already made friends with the person sitting next to him (that’s Henry though, her little social boy.  Taking after Daniel instead of her), “has already eaten his share of dessert for the day, so I am trying to get something somewhat nutritious into him.”  And because she doesn’t want to sound ungrateful, she adds, “By the way, thank you for inviting us.”

You can thank Robin for that,” Mulan mutters, her eyes not leaving Henry, a sly smile on her face, “he’s the one who arranges all of this.” She appears to have lost interest in this conversation, and begins to walk away.  Regina is confused until Mulan motions her to follow.

“Hey, Henry!” Mulan calls when they reach the table, as Regina slides the plate of food under him.  

“Hey, Mulan!” Henry chirps.  “So you met my mom?”

Well, it seems introductions are not in order.

Mulan glances over at Regina, soaking in her obvious shock, and then says, “Your son put up a good fight in the potato sack race, I must say.”

“Second place!” Henry says before biting into a burger.

“I beat ya though.”

“Only because your legs are longer,” Henry says with a mouthful of burger, shutting his mouth immediately when Regina lets out a warning _Henry._

“Henry do you mind if I talk to your mom real quick?” Mulan asks.  Henry nods, as if it were a simple request, and with that Mulan pulls up a chair, sitting at the end of the long table, motioning for Regina to take her seat.

Well alright then.  They’re going to talk business right in front of her son.

“So you’re going to want to know every little bit about me,” Mulan says flippantly, “I know it, and I’m prepared for it.  But I want to know a little about you.  I mean, it’s only fair right?  I need to trust you, too?”

It’s not _really_ how this is supposed to go.  But still, it’s often the way clients (Mulan isn’t the client, Constellation is, she reminds herself) open up, and she’s done it before.  

“Of course,” Regina says, slightly tensing, ”What do you want to know?”

Mulan turns to Henry instead, ignoring his mother.  “Does your mother have any interest in any sport at all?”

Henry smirks, “Baseball.  She pretends to like football sometimes but I know she doesn’t like it.”

Mulan turns to Regina and quips, “If your favorite team is the Yankees, we’re going to have problems.”

And the conversation evolves into small talk between the three of them, Mulan encouraging Henry to share embarrassing stories of his mom, adding in some of her own, and it is _hands down_ the weirdest meeting with a client she’s ever had.  In fact it feels like she’s the new girlfriend arriving and being evaluated by an overprotective mother than anything business related.  

When Henry finishes his plate (even the cut up veggies Regina had insisted he eat) he asks if he can go meet up with Phil and Andrea, pointing to the children talking right outside the tent, and Regina nods, sending him along.

“He’s a good kid,” Mulan muses as she comes back from the cooler, handing Regina an open bottle of beer and sipping one herself.  Her eyes are focused on Henry, watching how easily he gets on with his friends. “You’ve done a great job with him.”

There’s that feeling she gets when someone compliments Henry, or says how confident, or smart, or naturally at ease Henry is, that combination of guilt, relief, and even something that feels like pride.  Mulan doesn’t know how hard it’s been.  Mulan doesn’t know how much she legitimately has to worry about Henry, about whatever fears he may live with, whatever anger or hostility he may grow to have towards her for what she subjected him to in his youth. Mulan can probably guess that her little boy is her world, but does she know that giving him a good life, a life he deserves is her one true purpose in life, the only reason she’s fought so hard for so long, and hasn’t just given up.

There’s no way to thank a person for giving them a compliment on that scale, so Regina just smiles gratefully back at the woman, knowing her eyes probably convey the depth of her gratitude.

“So, Robin speaks highly of you,” Mulan says in a voice that sounds like it’s _trying_ to be nonchalant, but doesn’t quite reach that level.

“Does he?” Regina asks, trying to make her voice sound just as cool and detached when she adds, “He knows his stuff.  Seems very proud of your company.  And he’s,” she struggles with the right words to describe Robin to his boss and apparently close friend, pausing for a beat before finishing with, “a lot of fun.”

Mulan’s face screws up to something that looks like disagreement before her face relaxes. “He really is, I guess.  Still.”

“What does that mean?”

Mulan shrugs, and takes a sip of her beer.  “Just, I don’t know.  Forget it.”

Regina itches to talk business, but Robin had warned her that you should approach Mulan in much the same way you would approach a frightened deer in the forest.  You have to approach carefully so as not to frighten her away, have her scamper off and disappear from you forever.

So she doesn’t talk about branding, or press releases, or how to wear her hair.  Instead she makes conversation about the people she met, their personalities, complementing Mulan on the family she has built within this company.  And it’s genuine, it truly is.  They are an interesting bunch, and Mulan must pick up on the sincerity, because she speaks free and easily about all of them.

“Fuck it, I like you,” Mulan declares in the middle of a conversation about the more redeeming qualities of their sales staff.  “I was sure I was going to hate you, too.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Regina quips before she can stop herself.  But as she sees the smile cross Mulan’s face, she knows it was the right thing to say.  

“He likes you, too, you know.”

So much for business.

Regina shrugs the compliment off, but Mulan presses on.

“You don’t really see Robin act comfortable around new people.  Not anymore anyway.  Before, well, do you know about his wife?”

Regina nods.  Why are they talking about this?

“They were disgustingly in love.  We were friends in college, and he only had eyes for her.  Rare for a college student, you know?  But even more rare for someone with his personality.  He was wild, man.  Bold, daring, not afraid of anything  — an adrenalin junky.  Marian was always the person keeping him just a bit grounded.  And then, well, she died.  And he just became…”

Mulan’s focusing on something behind her now, not just watching the crowd, but staring at something, and when she follows her gaze Regina finds Robin talking to a small group of men who are laughing at whatever the hell he’s saying.  Mulan’s studying him, a tender expression on her face, perhaps a little concerned.  More like the look of a worried mother than a boss.

And the personal nature of this conversation hits her like a ton of bricks.

She _definitely_  shouldn’t be hearing this.  It’s not business related and certainly not fair to Robin.  But before she can try to shift the conversation Mulan continues.

“...it’s like someone turned off the switch and killed the light behind his eyes,” she settles on after a few beats. “I didn’t think he’d ever really recover from her loss.  Honestly, I worried if we didn’t drag him out sometimes he’d spend every hour he wasn’t with Roland staring at the walls until he fell asleep.”

There’s a bit of pain felt at the revelation, a squeezing in her chest, a stab of regret, remorse for a first impression gone wrong.  She curses any small part of her who still had doubts as to Robin’s character based on one night where, by all accounts, he was the best client she had ever had. Good men make mistakes (and she was a mistake, no question).  The night he booked wasn’t because he secretly demeaned or objectified women.  It was a moment of weakness for a grieving, lonely widower.

It’s a bit horrible, however, to be remembered as a good man’s worst decision.

But she won’t dwell on that.

She realizes no one has said anything for quite sometime, and glances back at Mulan, only to find the woman has been watching her stare at Robin for the past few moments.  Her eyes are slanted, head cocked as if she’s trying to read the situation.  And suddenly, Regina feels exposed.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t be unloading this on you,” Mulan finally says with a groan, “ It’s just...it’s not entirely unrelated to business.  Because the thing of it is,” she leans forward and her voice goes solemn and low, “I can build a thousand companies.  But there’s only one Robin. This company is nothing without people like him and —”

“You two getting acquainted, I see?”

Robin has snuck up behind them, it seems, and how much he heard of the conversation is yet unknown, but judging from the way he reacted to Leroy believing they were together, she braces herself, prepared to turn around to find him tense and fuming.  But he’s not, he looks a bit sheepish, almost apologetic when he sees her.  They had a plan for meeting Mulan, after all.  And it definitely wasn’t this.

“We were just talking about you, Robin.” Mulan smirks, her eyes sparkling and dancing in the stray rays of sunlight that find their way through the tent.

“All good things, I assume?” Robin takes Henry’s vacant seat to join them, face colored with amusement.

Regina meets Mulan’s eyes, raising her eyebrow in question.  But before she can say anything, Robin laughs.  

“So I can assume you’ve bonded over embarrassing stories about me, then?  It’s fine, I’m willing to spare my pride if it means you two are having a nice time.”

“We are,” Mulan gives.  “I met Regina’s son first.  Now, Regina isn’t quite as fun as Henry is, but….she’s alright I guess.”

Robin’s smile is a bit too goofy, a bit too broad when he bobs his head and agrees.

“So I’m going to finish celebrating,” Mulan sighs, “I’m going to leave you two for now.  I’m sure I will see you around. I gotta say hi to Aurora already.”

“Good luck,” Robin calls, but she only grunts a response as she walks away.

His eyes flicker back to Regina’s, and he gives her an apologetic frown, fidgeting a bit before saying, “Sorry.  I know that wasn’t how you intended to meet Mulan.”

Regina shrugs.  “It wasn’t so bad.  Of course, we didn’t talk about business at all…”

“You weren’t going to anyway.  She’s not going to listen to you unless she thinks you understand the company.  And to Mulan, that doesn’t mean pouring over a pile of financial disclosures and mission statements.  She thinks you have to join the team and experience the vibe.”

“I’m gathering that.”

He still looks a bit sour from the events of the day.  Exhausted, if nothing else, but he’s clearly not his jovial self.

“How are you holding up?” she asks.

He scratches the back of his head and takes a deep breath out. “I’m fine.   I’m sorry about before, it’s just hard….”

And because that look of sadness and pain when he spoke of his wife is still fresh in her mind, and because she’s never told him before, she grabs his hand, squeezes tight, and reveals one of her better kept secrets.

“I lost someone, too.”

He looks at her, tilts his head, and squeezes her hand back.  “Oh?”

“Henry’s real father,” she says, her voice falling into a low whisper, barely audible over the steady buzz of the festivities, “I was six weeks pregnant when I lost him.”

Robin’s eyes go wide, and he weaves his fingers through hers, his expression and the gentle gestures of his hands replacing the need for words.  Still, he offers a low, _I’m so sorry._

“He was hit by a drunk driver. We had just found out I was pregnant, and—” it’s an old wound, but old wounds can still tear open, can still hurt, and the memories of the pain from when they were fresh can still make your eyes water, “it’s been nine years.  But it still feels like yesterday sometimes.  So I know what you’re feeling.”

“Are you going to tell me it gets easier?” he asks, his voice breaking just a bit.  His gaze has dropped to their joined hands, and his other hand goes to cover them, softly caressing over them absently.

“No,” Regina says softly, “Just that I understand.  Daniel was my first and my last love too, and—”

Robin’s eyebrow raises, his face cocks into a an angle  She knows what must be going through his mind.  Questions of why she married that man, why she let him be Henry’s legal father, and it’s all crushing, the weight of her past sins.

“You probably think I’m an awful person,” she breathes, suddenly aware that he knows _enough._ He now knows she was pregnant with another man’s child and besmirched his memory by putting another man’s name on Henry’s birth certificate.  He knows just enough to think she’s awful.

And yet, “No, Regina, I don’t.”  His voice is strong and firm, not a hint of a waiver.  “I know you well enough to know you’ve got a good heart.  And I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, and I don’t have any right to ask, and yet…”

A part of her just wants to tell someone, finally tell someone besides Mal, just letting it out to one person would feel so...freeing.  But if she told him, he’d never look at her the way he does now.  Never hold her hand and offer her comfort.  He’d never flirt with her in an email, probably would never even oggle her in that cute, innocent way that he does.  And, frankly, he might lose all trust in her, and she’d lose this account the second that happened. So she shuts her mouth tight and swallows the last part of her secret.

“It’s a long story,” she says, answering the question she knows is on his lips, “one I don’t want to get into just now.  But I thought you deserved to know that I understand.” She shakes her head, pushing away the memories of how her loved ones will forever think she cared nothing for Daniel.  “And everyone knows how much you love and cherish Marian.  You’re a good man.  The more I see of you, the more I like.”

His eyebrows raise and his eyes go wide in a sort of gratitude that reminds her of their first night together, right before he left, when he launched into an unexpected string of praise and appreciation that was without a doubt the best gift she’s ever received from a client. “Thank you,” he whispers, his eyes still locked in hers.

She can’t help the way her head tilts in return to that look, and the way her fingers brush up and down his palms.  But when she hears the slight hum that comes out from her mouth, something snaps her out of it.

 _Not for you.  He’s not for you._ The voice in her head warns.  Even if he wanted her _that_ way, even if he saw her as more than a friend that can help distract him from his grief, she’s still not going to be able to be what he needs, what he deserves.

“I promised Henry I’d get involved in some of these games before the day was over,” she says, jerking her hand out of his harshly.

Robin clears his throat and mutters an _Of course, don’t let me keep you,_ and the awkwardness of the shift in mood spins out, topples over them and falls flat.  And she finds that she really doesn’t want to end their time today like this.

“Would you and Roland care to join us for a bit?”

He takes her up on the offer.

.::.

“Robin, stop cheating!” Henry squeals as Robin puts his hands over Henry’s eyes.  They are in a rather...intense game of cornhole.  Henry had the idea for them to play as a team, adults versus children, though at this point she wasn’t entirely sure her teammate qualifies as an adult.

Robin’s first round went badly (purposely so, Regina thinks, and while she doesn’t condone letting children win all the time, it’s rather cute when Robin does it).  Henry had laughed when the beanbags fell short on the grass, asking if Robin wanted to practice a little before the “real game.”  Robin had turned boyish, then, throwing his head back in mock offense, and then daring either of the boys to do better.  It had been clear from Henry’s first toss that he was good at this, and likely to beat him.  And so the grown man has been trying to sabotage an eight year old’s throws.  It’s...ridiculously juvenile, this competition between them, yet she’s not quite sure she’s ever seen someone act more like a father than the goofy man in front of her.

“Mommmmmm tell Robin to stop!” Henry shrieks as he tries to slap Robin’s hand away, but the tone of his voice tells her he’s enjoying this, enjoying Robin’s antics. And she has to admit, she’s enjoying them, herself.

“Boys,” Regina says with a warning tone, “let’s try and play fair, now, shall we?”

“All’s fair in a love and cornhole,” Robin retorts, before grabbing the beanbag out of Henry’s hand and holding it high in the air, “I have to confiscate this, you’re too good at this game, and you’re going to embarrass me.  It’s for the greater good.”

“Robin!” Henry jumps and grabs the beanbag from his hand, “I’m going to beat you!”

“Daddy, that’s not playing fair!” Roland admonishes, “No one likes a sore loser.”

Regina nearly collapses in laughter as the four year old scolds his own father, face screwed into a rather adult-looking disappointed frown, hands on his hips, eyebrows raised pointedly.  He’s probably imitating Robin now, using his own words against him.

“You’re right, my boy.  I was wrong.  Henry, please continue your game of cornhole.  I will accept my loss like a man.”

“You’re going to be _really_ upset when my mom does better than you,” Henry says before tossing the beanbag, letting out a little whoop when it lands close to the hole.  

“No, I won’t.  I’ll be proud to know I have such a great teammate,” Robin retorts, sticking his tongue out at Henry.

And when it’s Regina’s turn to play, she catches the look of admiration in Robin’s eyes when she has a rather successful group of tosses herself.  

“Any other hidden talents I should know about?” Robin whispers into her ear as he watches Roland play, taking the “two giant steps forward” they’ve agreed Roland is allowed for having “little arms”.  

“I could tell you, but wouldn’t you rather be surprised?” Regina responds, raising an eyebrow when she sees him smirk at her.

Henry and Roland win the game, but their victory is narrow, the game contentious.  Regina realizes, as they taunt and tease and celebrate, that she doesn’t get to see these interactions often.  So many of Henry’s playdates are strategically arranged so she can go to a meeting for one job or the other, and many of the playdates she arranges at her house are often thank yous and paybacks to the parents who have invited her son into their homes.  There haven’t been many opportunities to interact with a fellow parent and his own son, and there’s something fulfilling about it.  She knows her son has won over many parents, coaches, and teachers, but hearing about it and _seeing_ it are different things, and she enjoys the playful rapport Robin and Henry have developed so quickly.  

“Next, we’re going to go on the slide,” Henry says, pointing to the giant inflatable slide.

“Alright,” Regina says, “I’ll take pictures of you guys going down.  Remember to make funny faces!”

“You aren’t coming down the slide too, Regina?” Roland asks, pouting gamely at her.

“Take those puppy dog eyes away from me, Mister.  Henry has used them enough on me to become immune to their powers.”

Henry grabs her arm and pulls her toward the slide, “Come on, Mom!  It’ll be fun.”

“Henry, I’ve got heels on…”

“Take them off!”

“I’m in a dress!”

“That’s not an excuse!” Henry cries, “Andrea’s wearing a skirt, and _she_ went down the slide.”

“Andrea’s a little girl.  The rules are different.”

“Andrea’s not a little girl!  Andrea’s in _third grade._ ” Roland pipes up, ever quick to take issue with the subtle flaws in her argument.

“I think I know what’s wrong, boys,” Robin’s mouth twists into a playful grin, and then he says, “Henry, I think your mother is scared of the slide.”

“Am not,” she huffs.  She can’t help but laugh when she hears her own words.  Robin’s rubbed off on her, it seems.  Now she is behaving as a child.

“Regina come onnnn,” Roland begs, grabbing the arm Henry is holding, tugging along with him.  “Please, please, please.”

Henry joins in the chant, Robin just observes the scene gleefully, and it would be annoying if it weren’t so adorable.

“Regina I’ll sit on your lap if you are scared!” Roland offers, “You can hold onto me tight, I will protect you!”

Robin and Henry both laugh at that, and Regina, try as she might, can’t help her mouth from splitting into a smile.  

“What do you think, Regina? Could you muster up some courage to go down that slide if Roland is by your side?” Robin’s eyes twinkle in the sunlight, full of mischief and and amusement.  He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and smiles at her, sizing her up as if he’s trying to decide whether she is fit to handle the task.

“Well,” she tilts her head and looks at Robin, “If he’s in my lap he can at least keep the skirt of my dress from coming up.”  

She could swear she hears Robin mutter a _pity, that is_ in response, but well, if he did, it’s certainly not an appropriate comment in front of her son.  And, if he did say that, he immediately regrets it, because something has him wincing and looking sheepish.  So she lets it go and offers him a knowing smirk instead.

They have to sweet talk the slide attendant a bit, two at a time isn’t allowed, but Robin makes some convincing arguments and Roland’s just too adorable to turn down.

And that's how she ends up with someone else’s son in her lap on an inflatable slide.

Everything about the situation should scream awkward, but it feels natural and easy, Roland leaning into her, whispering words about how _fun_ the slide will be and how _she shouldn’t be scared_ .  But he yells out a _Ready, set, GO!_ in that excited, innocent way, and she cannot help but feel a bit overwhelmed.  Tears sting in the back of her eyes, prickling, threatening to spill free, and she begs them to stand down, she won’t cry when she thinks about the adorable boy in her lap, and how his father showed no hesitation in letting his son cling to her, letting her care for him, despite knowing what she _is_ and what she _does._ She won’t get emotional over this feeling of acceptance, over being able to share in the simple pleasures that normal families can indulge in.  But still, it’s nice to feel this way, whatever it is.

But it doesn’t really help with feelings she has that she won’t give a name to, seeing how Henry gets along with Roland, seeing the way Robin naturally gets along with Henry. It doesn’t really do anything to unblur the lines between business and friendship and _more than that_ when the three of them gang up to tease her for refusing to play a game of giant twister.  And when Henry and Roland split a twin pop popsicle together, laughing and revelling in the sticky, sugary treat, well, that’s when everything she’s not letting herself feel explodes inside her and she knows she’s in trouble.

“Come here,” she calls to Roland, upon seeing his sticky green fingers when the treat is done, about half reaching his mouth, the other dripping on the grass or over his hands..  She’s on autopilot, taking baby wipes out of her purse and rubbing them over his hands as he scowls.  

“I always forget those.” Robin says in a regretful whisper.

She murmurs a _No problem_ and calls out to Henry, who dutiful collects a wipe and scrubs his hands with it.  They are sticky and dirty as well - not quite as bad as Roland, but certainly nothing he should be running around with.

“We have to be going soon,” she says to Henry.  His scowl perfectly sums up her feelings on the matter, but it’s been a long day, and she’s overstayed her welcome.  This day wasn’t supposed to be some odd sort of play date between an eight and soon-to-be five year old.  

“Can we go on the water slide?” Henry asks then, “Just one time?”

Regina frowns.  She has a towel in the car, but the idea of Henry in wet shorts - however briefly he’s in them — sounds uncomfortable.  But well, that’s his decision, isn’t it?  “Sure.  But then we’re going straight home. And take off your shirt, so you at least have one dry item of clothing.”

Henry strips off his shirt, and Roland does the same, running alongside Henry as they race each other to the water slide.

“Good kid,” Robin murmurs as they watch their kids run off.  “He sure loves his mom.”

“I think I have about two to three more years before he stops wanting to spend time with me.  I’m soaking up the time while I’ve got it,” she smiles back, “Thank you, by the way.  For today.  It...it was great for Henry.”

Robin shrugs, “It’s nothing, it’s just a party.”

“I don’t mean the party.”  She breathes out the confession just above a whisper, and for a second she can’t believe she actually said it.  “Thanks for spending time with him.  He deserves a bit of normalcy.  At functions like these, well...he’s got to rely on me, and I try, but ...”

“You more than try,” Robin reminds her. “You had no problem jumping in and playing with us boys, dress and heels and all.”  He winks at her, a cute, little thing, and she feels her heart pound loud and fast inside of her in answer.

“Still, it’s good for him to see examples of good men, good fathers and the like.”  She leaves the reason unspoken, but he picks up on it immediately.  

“I don’t think you have to worry about that.  Henry knows how to be a good man,” Robin assures her. “And he can learn everything he needs to know about being a good man from his mom, yeah?  Almost everything.  If he needs someone to teach him how to get a close shave in a few years, let me know.”

“I’ll keep you in mind,” she coos, but she knows by the time Henry has hair on his face, Robin will be a distant memory.

The boys return wet and sunkissed and happy. Soaked, dripping shorts and sneakers in their hands.  

They all walk to her car together.  Robin and Roland are staying at the picnic for a bit longer, but she assumes it’s some form of chivalry, showing a lady to her car.  And before she can open the car door, a drenched ittle Roland throws his hands around her and hugs her, hard.  

She sees Robin wince, but he shouldn’t. Her dress will dry.  She welcomes the hug with open arms.  

She means the next gesture to be a tease.  Roland’s gotten her dress all wet, and she wants to similarly dampen Robin’s clothes.  But when she leans into hug him, and wraps her hands around him, it’s suddenly not so funny.  She finds herself kissing the man’s cheek, for god’s sake, before she can think better of it.  

They leave shortly thereafter.  She holds her breath for a bit, but thankfully, Henry doesn’t say anything of her awkward little kiss.

.::.

It’s been a rollercoaster of a day.  Coordinating everything was a headache, and there’d been the expectation of the pain that usually accompanies this day, the reminder of what he lost, _who_ he lost, that he usually carries with him.

Except this time, the memories weren’t quite so oppressive.

It’s only been four years.  Technically, it’s been three years and ten months.  So, not even four years.  Three years, ten months, and six days and he doesn’t feel the need to weep in a corner again, doesn’t feel the emptiness that usually surrounds him on this day, when he watches his friends and coworkers interact with their families.  

He misses the way he used to miss her.  Misses the pain grieving her brought him.  That pain was a constant reminder of Marian’s presence and with it, he never worried he would forget her or sully her memory.  

All of these thoughts flood his mind when Regina leaves the party, when he sees Roland throw his arms around her, and then again when she loops her arm around Robin’s torso gently.  His heart is racing, his breath catching in his chest over the innocent touch, and it’s a familiar feeling until her lips hit the skin of his cheek and her warm breath is tickling his ear with promises to talk to him soon.

That anticipation, that moment between feeling her arms around him and feeling her lips on his skin, he has truly only felt that once before. , As a teenager, before his first real kiss with Marian.

And that’s a cruel joke, isn’t it?  Finally someone has him feel what he thought he could never feel again, and she’s off limits.

“You should ask her out,” Mulan suggests casually as they walk to their cars.

“Who?” he asks, and the exaggerated eyeroll Mulan gives him in return is almost worth his failed attempt at ignorance.  

“She likes you, too, you know.” Mulan is venturing into dangerous territory, and she knows it.  He doesn’t like the implication that he has feelings for someone else, hates it, in fact, would probably have told Mulan to go fuck herself right then and there had Regina not so recently talked him off a ledge.  

“I can assure you she does not,” Robin answers quickly.  

“But you like her.” Mulan fishes her keys out of her knapsack and gets in her car.  He thinks she will just drive off and leave the conversation as is, but she stares at him, keys in the ignition, car idling, waiting for his response.  

“Fine,” Robin groans. “She’s gorgeous.  You think so, too.  That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Robin,” Mulan whines, “why are you fighting this?  Because if it’s about Marian, you know what she would have wanted. ”

He doesn’t answer, and a pregnant pause grows between them before she gives up and changes the topic, thanking him for all his hard work with the picnic.

He watches Mulan drive away as he waves through clenched teeth and rising blood pressure, trying to quell the anger bubbling up inside of him once again directed at Leroy, and now Mulan, and nearly all of his happy coworkers.  Though frankly, that anger should probably be directed inward.

It’s a low blow bringing Marian up, but Mulan wasn’t wrong.  She knows as well as he does that Marian did not want Robin to honor her memory with pain and misery.  He wasn’t supposed to feel this gnawing guilt at the thought of seeing someone new, feeling things that he had only felt for one other person in his entire life.  Just the thought of replacing someone for the role Marian played in his life story, it seemed unforgivable.  And yet, exactly what she had wanted.

The letter, the one she gave him right before the surgery, the one he keeps in his nightstand and reads, over and over again, that letter could not have been more clear.  And the passage he has long since memorized spins in his head.

_I know we discussed that we will only think of positive thoughts, that there’s no need to bother our time together mulling over ‘what if’s’, so that is why I’m writing this to you.  Should the surgery go poorly, (should I die, or become a vegetable), know that my last and dying wish is that you don’t stop living just because I did.  Take chances.  Dive into whatever life throws your way.  Open yourself up to new challenges, new cultures, new experiences, and yes, new loves._

_Please love again. It’s hard for me to imagine a life without you, and as we are so similar I’m sure you have the same problem.  But I wouldn’t want the universe to miss out on all the things that Robin Locksley brings just because I’m not by his side.  So love someone the way you love me, make someone as happy and fulfilled  and safe as you make me.  Love deeply and truly, the way you were born to do.  You don’t just have my blessing to move on, it is in fact my last wish that you do so.  For you as much as for Roland.  Find someone who can fill the house with laughter and love and joy, who helps raise Roland to be as confident and brave and unafraid as his father…_

Initially that part of the letter had angered him, and he obstinately refused to even entertain complying with his late wife’s dying request, as he ranted to Mulan how _unfair_ and _callous_ and _selfish_ it was of her to write him this (it wasn’t, he knew it wasn’t, it was the opposite of all these things. Caring, and sweet and selfless and absolutely fair of her to request this sort of life for her son, but…).  Mulan had told him to give it time, to reassess, and to remember her words when the time was right.

But he was so stubbornly against finding anyone to replace her that when the need for companionship overwhelmed him, he found himself looking for an arrangement that could definitely lead to nothing further.  Hiring escorts to appease his loneliness was certainly not the life Marian had wanted for him.  But he had done it, and now, in some sort of beautiful irony, the first person he felt a connection to was the woman he had hired specifically to avoid such feelings.  

He is falling for her.

No, he’s already fallen.  It’s happened far too fast and it may seem ridiculous, but he knew he was a goner when he kissed Marian as a teenager in a crowded parking lot, and he had been right about that, hadn’t he?

.::.

There’s a haze over the rest of the day she can’t quite place, a stab in her heart that has no right to be there.  She’s stuck on repeat, replaying little moments of the day, indulging in the memory of Robin dumping a bottle of water over his head after the activities of the day had him red faced and sweaty, then torturing herself with the way he looked at her when she played with his son.  And then she’s back to scolding herself with Mulan’s warning about his fragile little heart, and wallowing in the the way he reacted when the IT guy thought they were together.  And yet, her heart still flutters when she remembers how Henry looked and called out to him, and she finds herself shivering when she remembers the way his breath had sucked in when she had kissed his cheek and said goodbye.  

She needs to stop.

She searches for a distraction. Paying bills, checking emails.  And then she sees an email in her _other_ work account.  One that needs to be answered.

One of her regulars is requesting an overnight.  Overnights are easy money, and Jefferson may be an aging trust fund kid with no direction and a growing pill addiction, but he’s not dangerous.  He’s an easy client to please.

So this should be good news. Seeing that he wants to pay her an exorbitant amount of money to order expensive room service, watch him  snort a line of Special K, listen to him prattle on about his life, and eventually (normally) get him off once before he passes out for the night.

But tonight this request brings her know joy.  It only serves to remind her that the day she just had was visiting a life she will never know — never have.  Doesn’t deserve to have, afterall.    

She feels guilt again — the bubbling, obnoxious brew of self-loathing and regret that threatens to boil over inside her, twisting and burning her insides.  She welcomes that feeling like an old friend, one you know well, but haven’t seen in years.  She has long since made peace with who she is, what she does, where her morals are, and frankly, it doesn’t bother her anymore.  But for some reason, fate saw fit to grant her a reprieve, giving her just enough self worth to remember what she’s doing is wrong and morally dubious.

Then she remembers David’s warning about the custody battle and her thoughts fly to visitation and Leo’s cold hands on her dear son.  The guilt transforms into determination and she yet again reminds herself what is at stake.

You see, there’s a timeline in place.  And the timeline requires a certain amount of untraceable money each month.  She generally likes to build her clientele up with a handful of regulars who can keep her monthly extra income somewhat steady. They see her about once a month, some a bit more, some a bit less, but it evens out to about 4-5 “appointment nights” a month.

And she won’t book more than that, won’t spend the time away from her son.  That’s not happening.  But any less than that, and she’s never going to get the money together in time.

She had only put her website back online for three days when Robin found her.  A regular had moved on, stopped calling for new appointments.  It happens, sometimes, in her line of work, even as close to the clients as she gets, she never truly knows when an appointment will be her last.  But, the client had left, and she was short a regular, so up the advertisements and websites went.

She gets lots of inquiries, but she’s a careful screener, more than a bit paranoid of getting involved with the wrong client.  There were over twenty requests for nights with her by the time she chose Robin to go out with.  Robin had been selected because he passed her own conflict and background check, had requested an entire evening, and because he had been excessively polite in his email and on the phone.

But of course, Robin wasn’t her new regular.  He was a one time thing, and that’s a shame.  Not just because it means she doesn’t get to spend time getting sweaty and passionate in his arms (she wouldn’t mind another round or two of that right now, if she’s being honest), but because that means she has to find someone else to replace her lost regular.  And frankly, despite her occupation, she’s not naturally fond of new people.  

_Alexandra,_

_Mia gave me your email and asked that I connect directly with you for a request for a second appointment.  Mia and you and I shared an evening not too long ago, and it was spectacular.  It’s one I’d love to repeat, though this time, I’d like to spend time with just you.  Please let me know if there are any questions I need to answer or hoops I need to jump through to arrange this.  Thank you._

_Sincerely,_

_Isaac Heller_

There was…nothing wrong with him.  There was nothing right, either, but he was harmless, and he’s a regular client of Mal’s which means he has worked with an agency and knows how to behave.  And there’s no reason to say no, certainly not because she is longing for a relationship she has never had before.  

So that’s it.

She writes Isaac back and asks him when he’d like to schedule their appointment.


	8. Chapter 8

As it turns out, the picnic is on Henry's second day of summer vacation. The last day of school is always on a Wednesday, for some reason, and Regina generally takes that Thursday and Friday off, spending a four day weekend with her son while she lets him indulge in too many video games, comic books, and all the television he wants. Monday is always the start of his first of many summer camps, after all, and he doesn't get the opportunity for unstructured play much at all.

It's become somewhat routine for them to indulge in a lazy long weekend of mother and son bonding, and she's grateful for this time every year.

But this year the merger is taking precedent, and there was an end-of-the-school year party at his friend Nathan's on Thursday, so Henry didn't miss their usual ritual. But when he'd heard she would not be able to take off on Friday, he'd pouted. Even if she let him stay over at Nathan's. Even if they got to play video games and eat junk food and trade comics, he was still upset.

It pulls at her heart a bit, sometimes, realizing that for all Henry has grown, for all he acts like he wants nothing to do with her kisses goodbye in front of his friends, for as independent as he is in his young eight years, he's still _her boy._ He still enjoys spending time with her, and it's both wonderful to know and heart wrenching, because she's not in the position where she can spend as much time with him as she likes, and she worries he may be starved for her attention but unable to tell her.

"I have to go to this company picnic on Friday," she says, watching his face fall a bit, "But would you like to go with me? I'll call out from work for the morning, and we'll stay in, I'll make pancakes, and then you can come to the picnic. I heard there will be children there."

"You _have_ to go to a picnic?" Henry gripes, adorable pout in his face, "Picnics aren't work. Picnics are for fun."

"Not _this_ picnic. This is for one of mommy's clients. I have to work the whole picnic and talk to people about boring business things. But I hear the picnic will be fun for kids, and there should be a bouncy castle and other games…"

"Bouncy castles are for babies," he corrects, crossing his arms, "I'm not a baby."

She sighs, closes her eyes and tries to compose herself. She won't scold her little boy, not when he has every right to be disappointed in her yet again. "I'm sorry, Henry, I am, but I have to go, and if the party is boring, at least you'll have hotdogs and burgers and potato chips and….I'll let you bring the ipad and play with it the entire day. Okay?"

He brightens a bit at that, gives out an _Okay…_ and then asks, "Do I know anyone there?"

"Um, do you remember my client Robin? He came over to the house that one time?" She doesn't like to bring up that day, as it was a terrifying one for Henry, but he had asked, and he was likely to recognize him.

"Yeah I remember him…" Henry pauses, then finishes his thought, a hint of skepticism dripping from his words, "he _seemed_ nice."

"He is," she assures, "and he works with nice people, and he was sure to tell me you were invited. Okay?"

Henry nods, but his eyes are still slanted, face still screwed up as if he doesn't quite believe her, as if he's not quite happy with this turn of events. Then Regina adds, "We're going to spend all Saturday and Sunday together, and you can request we spend the day however you want. Deal?"

"We can drive Go Karts?"

Regina chuckles a bit, of course he'd pick the semi-dangerous activity she had so cleverly avoided for the past two years, because the age limit was firmly set at eight years old. And of course, now, Henry is old enough to drive them. "Fine. But if you break something, don't expect a pity party."

"I won't break anything, except maybe the course record." Henry taunts, looking up at her defiantly.

"All this talk of speeding through the course is not helping your case," Regina says sternly, biting back a smile at her adorable, confident son. How did she ever raise someone who is so comfortable in his own skin, so happy, so self-assured? With everything that has happened he should be a mess by now, shouldn't he? And yet...he bears no scars from his three years with Leo, none that she can see, anyway, and appears to have no issues from the custody battles, Leo's accusations and taunts,the confusion and mess that is his paternity... There must be an angel watching over him, she thinks. An angel in the form of Daniel, sheltering him from the consequences of her bad choices.

But before she can dwell too much on any of that, Henry pulls her back to the present when he wraps his arms around her in an unexpected, a tight hug. Regina closes her eyes and holds him tight, taking a moment to savor it, knowing there aren't many years left where her son will give her this type of affection freely.

But for now, she can soak up the knowledge that her son seems happy, healthy, and well-adjusted. Despite everything.

 

.::.

 

For the past several years, Robin has been in charge of coordinating Mushu's events. In the early years with the company, it was because there was no one else to do so. Mulan, for all her good qualities, has never had the patience to coordinate a party, and so she designated him to be the party planner himself. During their first year of business, that role entailed hitting up the liquor store for beer and wine, organizing a sort of potluck with his employees and ordering a few pizzas.

But as the company grew in both success and employees, Mulan found celebrating was ever more important, and the annual party became bigger, more extravagant, and frankly, more complicated. Now they hire an outside company to deal with catering, equipment rental, and the like, but Robin is still the one in charge of coordinating, letting them know the headcount, and of course, he is in charge of communicating whatever crazy idea Mulan has come up with this time.

Every year Mulan has some half-cocked idea to outdo the previous year. This one is no exception, especially as the picnic has been extended not just to family, but to other business connections the company has made over the years, and their respective families.

That's the reason the serene park where they once grilled burgers and hotdogs with a random tournament of cornhole, now looks like a carnival fairground.

Everything has gone exactly to schedule, and there's been quite a bit to keep up on. But still, he's nervous for a reason he can't quite explain, until he sees Regina walking down the grassy slope towards the company picnic.

Regina and _Henry,_ it seems. She wasn't sure on whether he'd show up, said he might rather have a playdate with a friend, but it seems he's decided to come along anyway. Robin finds himself pleased that she's invited her son into his world. He shakes himself. It is just a bloody company picnic and it's her job to be here. He shouldn't be touched that she's chosen to bring her son along.

Robin finds himself jogging up the grassy hill to meet them.

Regina looks...stunning, as always. She's got sunglasses on that hide her beautiful eyes (he's missed looking at them, and when he finds himself thinking of this, he curses himself for being such a sap), but she's in a soft, casual navy dress that flares a bit at the waist, paired with sandals with a bit of a heel. Her hair is styled and draped over one of her shoulders, little dots of white in her ears that are probably pearls, and god, she's far overdressed for a party with an inflatable waterslide and a volleyball net, but that's Regina, isn't it?

"Hey," he says when he reaches her about halfway between the event grounds and the road. Her ruby lips part into a smile, and he looks down at her son. "Henry, right? We've met, briefly."

"I remember you," Henry says quickly. He focuses on Robin and throws him a semi-suspicious glare before he is too distracted by the festivities visible over Robin's shoulder. "Is _all of this_ your party?"

"Yes, we were expecting maybe a bouncy castle and maybe a rousing game of 'Guess how many jellybeans are in the jar?', we did not expect the circus to be in town." Regina teases, smirking from behind those bloody sunglasses.

"Not a circus, not quite," Robin corrects, "I mean, there is a juggling clown, but I said absolutely no to the petting zoo. Though, we did go a bit overboard with the inflatable slides and the moonbounce…" he turns around, and, truly, from this view, on top of the hill with the picnic below, it does look a bit over the top. "And of course, we had to get the rock wall…"

"Can I climb on the rock wall, Mom? I brought my own money!" He looks up at Robin and then slides his hands in one of the pockets of his cargo shorts, as if he's searching for his wallet. "How much does it cost?"

Robin laughs, "Your money's no good here, Henry. It's all free, as a way to say thank you for people like your mom."

Henry's eyes go wide as he looks at the spectacle that is this year's party and then just breathes out a simple, "Awesome!"

He turns back to Regina, who nods and waves her hand, "Go on, but no junk food until you have lunch. Especially if you are going to be riding up and down those slides. I don't need last year's incident at the amusement park to be repeated, do you hear me?"

He groans an exasperated _Moooo-oommm_ but promises to lay off the junk until lunch, again thanking Robin before he runs off.

"Amusement park incident?" Robin asks, biting his lip and raising his brow at her.

"His friend Nathan had a birthday and Nathan's dad thought the kids deserved to eat whatever their hearts desired. Chilli cheese fries. And a funnel cake. And a slushie. Not the best combo before going on a ride where you swing in a circle for 4 straight minutes, is it?"

Robin grimaces and then snickers. "Boys. When will they learn?"

"Judging from the age of Nathan's dad, I'd say...never?"

They are walking towards the picnic grounds now, and he's fighting an urge to put his hand on the small of her back and help guide her. It's not entirely because he wants to touch her (god, he wants to touch her) but also because she's in heels and walking on soft grass, and yes, they appear to be on a platform (wedges, Marian would call them, he thinks), but it's still uneven ground and it's still downhill, and he doesn't quite know how she's able to balance so well. Somehow, she does.

"So this picnic…," Regina repeats as they walk towards the event, "It's, uhhh…."

"It's ridiculous, I know," Robin admits, "But Mulan, she loves it. Loves us all coming together as a family, loves seeing everyone's kids, and she _wants_ everyone here. So we bribe them to all come together with free fun and treats. We're not proud of it, but there's no harm done, yeah?"

They are in the shade of a tree now, just a few feet from a buffet table, and she takes a moment to look around at the people and activities.

"Constellation would never do something like this," she mutters.

He might have had a perfect response to that, but she's taken off her sunglasses now, and good god, her eyes are beautiful in this light, all caramel and rich chocolate with flecks of gold shimmering around.

"Robin?"

"Hmm?"

"I asked if you were planning on introducing me to Mulan now or later?"

"Uhh, give her a second," Robin chuckles, "She's a kid at heart. She uhh…" his eyes wander around the picnic quickly, searching for the places where she's most likely to be at this time of day, and spots her easily. He points over in her direction.

"Do you see that rather large child who is about to go down that slide? That is our CEO, and as you can see, she's very busy with pressing matters right now, and I wouldn't want to disturb her."

"Ahhh…" Regina takes a moment to watch her, maybe to see how she interacts with the kids of her friends and coworkers, and a smile spreads on her face. When she turns back to Robin, he's staring at her.

"What?"

He clears his throat and curses himself for being so obvious, and then he's just honest. "Nothing, it's just, you, uh, look really nice today."

She does. Navy is her color, obviously. Or maybe it's not. But she wore a navy dress when they first met, and frankly, the color on her is always going to bring him back to that day, if only for a brief moment. And he's not going to think she looks anything less than extraordinary when he thinks back to that night.

"Do I?" she drawls, "I suppose I'm a bit overdressed for this affair..oh god, is that a water slide?"

Robin grimaces, "I should have let you know to bring your swimsuit, or, uh, Henry, too, it was a last minute addition, you see."

"It's probably for the best you didn't, I never would have believed there was an actual reason for a bikini and would have suspected ulterior motives." She gives him a pointed stare and then smiles when he feels his cheeks redden.

"I never joke about necessary articles of clothing, Miss Mills. It's something I pride myself on." It feels like flirting, but is this flirting?

When she gives him a light jab to his side, he is sure it is.

"Come on," she says, grabbing his arm, "introduce me to your coworkers."

It's remarkably easy, spending time with Regina. She stays at his arm as they mingle and eat, makes pleasant conversation with everyone from executives to secretaries to family members. He hadn't expected that, assumed she'd branch off on her own, but it seems she's decided she'd best to get to know everyone through Robin.

It's been a long time since he's done _this,_ gone to an event with someone at his hip. The last time he did introductions, in fact, it was someone literally _on_ his hip, when he forced himself out for the sake of the company and introduced a soon-to-be-two year old Roland to his work family. He enjoys this, introducing some fresh new blood to his gang. It feels natural, too, with her, like something just clicks.

And Regina, well, she is good at her job. She's gotten his coworkers to open up and talk about their job without ever realizing they were sharing details of the business. Just by being warm and inviting.

It's...maybe not the job she was born to do (she's not as naturally social as he is, though it's hard to notice, after awhile he can feel an edge of uncertainty in her voice, and well, while talking to new people tends to excite him, it seems to drain her just a bit), but she's _good_ at it. She describes her role and what she wants to do with the company succinctly, and then has a knack for getting others to talk about themselves, luring them into a sense of comfort. It probably is a skill she's honed at _both_ of her jobs.

By the time he makes his way to Leroy, the IT tech, Robin's got that pleasant buzz, the high he gets from several good conversations amongst friends. Leroy, it seems, is also on a high, but it appears to be alcohol induced. Whatever the cause, he seems more approachable and friendlier than he's seen him in awhile.

"Leroy, I wanted to introduce to you Regina Mills— "

Leroy's eyes light up, he jerks his beer forward so it spills a bit, extending his non-beer holding hand out in an offer for a nice shake. His lips curl into a wide toothed grin and he bellows out, "Regina! Good to see ya! We all were wondering when Robin was finally going to get out there again. Seems like he struck gold right away."

"Leroy, she's our public relations liaison."

"You guys aren't dating at all?"

Robin swallows hard, wondering what exactly it is that makes Leroy jump to such a conclusion, and tries to speak, but can't exactly think of a thing to say. His cheeks flush as he thinks of Marian, with her gentle smile and sing-song voice. And suddenly, he's rather upset with Leroy. At least, he thinks it's Leroy that has him so angry. Robin's jaw clenches and his soft eyes turn icy and harsh. Leroy's face screws into a confused stare, and he opens his mouth but is interrupted before he can even speak.

"That's right," Regina jumps in for him, taking Leroy's hand, "but I'm glad to meet you, Leroy. And what is it you do?"

Leroy takes a moment to stare at them, tilts his head as if about to ask Robin something, before changing his mind and answering the question.

There's some light banter and chit chat between Regina and Leroy, and it's all very innocuous, but Robin's cheeks still burn, anger bubbling inside him, threatening to boil over at any second. He holds his breath, counts to ten, and focuses his energy on releasing anger he knows he has no right to be holding onto.

Leroy excuses himself to get more to eat, and Robin gives what he hopes is a polite nod and a smile, and then Regina wraps a hand around his forearm, tugging him gently in the direction of the picnic benches, not the tables in the shaded tent, but the old, abandoned, lonely picnic table under a willow tree. He puffs out a breath of air in protest, but follows her.

"What's wrong?" She whispers into his shoulder, a hand moving to his back, rubbing slightly, meant to pacify, to subdue the emotions threatening to spill out from him.

He shakes his head silently. "It's nothing."

He's sure he won't answer her, she won't get him to talk about this, but as resolute as he is, he sits down on the picnic bench, watching as she lifts one beautiful leg up and over the attached bench of the picnic table, the pair following the same motions, and then sitting and scooting next to him.

He feels her hand on his back, a warm welcome of physical contact, and it would probably succeed in draining this foul mood out of him, but he thinks about how others may perceive the touch and he's angry again.

"You don't have to do this," he mutters gruffly.

"Do what?"

"It's your job to make everyone feel comfortable and at ease today. I've seen you. You don't have to do that with me. You've already won me over. I trust you. You can just be. You don't have to do this."

"I'm not doing this because it's my _job,"_ she grins, as if he said something adorable and naive, "I think we've reached the point where we can admit our relationship is not just a professional one. I don't think it was exactly in your job description to drive me home a few weeks ago...or the time before that, either."

He warms at her words, likes knowing she doesn't just see him as another business associate, another client to appease. So despite his anger, his mouth twitches, tremors, and a weak smile spreads for a moment and then is wiped away when he thinks of what this warm feeling may possibly mean.

"But I will tell you, I'm very good at getting people to talk when they don't want to," she teases, "so if you don't tell me willingly, I'll have to sneak it out of you."

"Leroy was being a bit of an ass back there is all."

"How so?" she asks, "I must have missed it, some sort of inside joke or—"

"To think I would be so cavalier about someone new? When he knew Marian, knew her well, to think I'd just casually stroll around this picnic, and he— he _knew_ her, Regina, knew _us,_ and he'd believe I'd just introduce him to my new date at _this_ event, and..."

He's not making sense and he knows it. Leroy didn't accuse him of anything, he just made an assumption. But the second he mentioned it Robin realized this day was so much like Marian's first picnic, and the slightly euphoric feeling of the day was wiped away by something dark and heavy, an emotion he couldn't quite place.

"What do you mean, you would be so 'cavalier' with someone new?" She asks, her hand drops from his back and wedges between them, brushing against his leg before moving it to her own. Her demeanor shifts and changes as she ever so slightly creates space between them.

"Marian was important to me," Robin starts, "he was acting like she…" There's no point in continuing, it's all a jumbled mess.

"No he wasn't," she whispers, "you know that, Robin. He thought you brought a date to the picnic and he was happy for you."

"I wouldn't just bring a _date_ here. This — this isn't first date stuff. This is important. This day is important. He knows that."

"What makes it important?" she asks ducking to find his eyes, he's looking away from her, trying to avoid her glance, and he knows it's childish. He straightens up and clears his throat, trying to organize his thoughts through a mess of emotion.

"This is a family event. I took Marian to this every year. It's where most of these people first met her, how everyone got to know her, to love her. She loved this picnic. She helped me organize it. When they became more extravagant I'd complain that Mulan was losing her mind, but Marian, Marian loved it. And she was, well, she would light up the whole day. I don't want people thinking I've forgotten that and I've forgotten all about her."

"I doubt people think that," she says, "and it's been a long time. Years. You've mourned, Robin. I know the time isn't quite right, now, and certainly you don't want this with _me_ —"

"That's not it, not at all. It's not you, I don't want you thinking it's you."

She nods as if she understands, but does she?

If he's being honest with himself, he's not upset that people assumed he was dating again, or because people may have assumed he had moved on. He's angry because until the moment when Leroy spoke, he hadn't thought of Marian at all. He had been having a genuinely good time with Regina, so much so he forgot to use this day as another homage to Marian, another day that he'd experience that terrible longing and make those impossible wishes in whispered breaths into the hot breeze. It's hard to admit all of this to himself (he hates himself for not even thinking of his late wife on this day), much less to Regina, but he can't have this beautiful woman thinking that he's insulted to be thought of as her date, so he needs to make this clear.

"I think the real reason why I'm upset, is—"

"As I was saying, when the time comes when you actually want to move on, you will have nothing to feel guilty about. Trust me."

There's something in the way she says it that makes him think she knows what she's talking about, and he wants to know more. But she's placed the emotion he's been feeling and not able to articulate: _guilt._ And Regina, for all her insight, couldn't possibly know that it is his years of mourning should make him feel guilty, and not the fact his mind was free of her memory for a few hours.

Thoughts fly back to Marian now, though. That memory burned into his brain of his wife lying in a hospital bed with that sincere, serene smile that she always wore just for him. She had been hooked up to a few IVs before the surgery, measuring vital signs and waiting to be taken in and sedated when she handed him a long letter written on pages ripped from a cheap spiral notebook.

 _Just in case,_ Marian had told him, _this is everything I want for you and for Roland. All spelled out_.

It turns out he had made a mockery of her last wishes.

"I should apologize for this little meltdown of mine," he finally settles on, running hands through his hair in a desperate attempt to brush out the guilt-inducing memories. "I'm normally quite gregarious at these events. Maybe I just need a drink. I should look at this situation positively: at least Leroy thinks I have good taste in women, right?"

He's turned to smile at her, and good god, looking at her is like looking into the sun, he'd better stop, or he's going to get hurt.

But he stares anyway, soaking up the smile she gives him in return. For a moment everything else falls away and all he sees is the woman who fell into his life, who seems to know him far too well, far too soon.

"DADDDY, I MISSED YOU!"

An object hurls onto his back, causes him to lurch forward and knocks the wind out of him. Arms and legs are wrapped around his body, and Regina is collateral damage in the attack, sneakered feet kicking between the two of them, forcing her to shift a bit, not that she appears to mind. She's looking at the flying monkey on his back with bright eyed amusement dancing in her eyes, a hint of appreciation for the mischief maker behind them.

 

.::.

 

Of course his son would be absolutely adorable.

Of course.

It's enough that he's charismatic at parties, observant of her needs, it's enough that he's kind, and respectful, has a reverence about his late wife that hits her in the gut, reminding her of all the ways why she won't have someone like this ever again in such a simple, sweet way. It's enough that he's welcomed her into what appears to be his family, that he speaks about her and to her as if she were more like a nuclear physicist than a public-relations-assistant/part-time-prostitute.

But sure, why not make this worse? He has to have a son who looks like he stepped out of a Cheerios commercial. And watching them together, watching his son laugh as Robin pretends not to know who is on his back for a second, it's like a punch to her ovaries. She's through with having babies (thinks she can live with that, despite the twinge of longing she has occasionally, but no, she can't, that time is done), but there's something about children of that age that makes her nostalgic and sappy.

"Roland! You can't just jump on people like that without warning them. You could have hurt me. And you may very well have hurt Miss Regina."

"Who's Miss Regina?" The child is so wrapped up in his father he hasn't even noticed her. Maybe she should be offended, but instead it's another stab at her heart, to see how close the two of them are. How much this little boy obviously adores his father.

"Regina is the person sitting next to me, who I believe you just kicked in the arm," he says, reaching behind him until he gets a good grasp on Roland's arms, then swings Roland quickly to his front, placing him in his lap as he gives him a tickle. Roland squeals and kicks, but this time Regina is out of the line of fire. "And I believe you owe her an apology."

She laughs along with Roland as Robin tickles his son. And suddenly, the feeling pops up that she's tried so desperately to stomp out. It's an indescribable, pulsing impulse to grab him by that damned light blue polo shirt (the one that brings out his eyes just perfectly, that is fitted to compliment his lean, muscular physique) and kiss him, hard.

Perhaps watching a man be a good father is her little kink, because there's certainly something sexy about him now, in this moment. She doesn't have experience with these types often, and given what she is, she is unlikely to ever have _that —_ the perfect father, the adoring husband (he was an adoring husband, she can tell he was). She sold her ability to have that kind of man and that kind of family long ago, and maybe that is where this painful longing comes her body and her mind crave something she knows she can't have.

"I'm s-s-s- _Ah_! SORRY, Miss Regina!" Roland shrieks between giggles. When the words are out Robin stops tickling, letting the boy sit in his lap, meaning that Regina gets a closer look at his son's dimpled smile.

Fucking hell.

"Regina, as I'm sure you've gathered, this is my son, Roland. Who was supposed to be playing with his Uncle John today. Where did he go?"

"He told me to run and surprise you while he got me a hot dog!" he exclaims, and then, "Hi, Miss Regina!"

"Hello, Roland," she says through a broad smile, "You know, if it's alright with your dad, I'd like you to call me Regina."

Robin smiles and says to the boy "Regina it is, then."

"So, Roland, are you having fun at the picnic?" Oh, that question needn't be answered, but Regina asks just the same. Roland is every bit the picture of a boy at play, sweat soaked curls, apple-red flushed cheeks, wide eyes and loud smile, the smell of suntan lotion radiating off him.

"Yes! I went on the big slide twelve times!"

"That one?" Regina asks, pointing at the big slide over on the right side.

"Yes! And you know what else? I was in a potato sack race!" He turns to his father and gives him an adorable stern look, and adds, "you need to come play more games, Daddy."

"I will, my boy, but I need to talk to people first, yeah? Like always."

"Yes, but Daddy did you know Phil is here? And I met two new friends today at the race! One is named Andrea and one is named Henry! Andrea is in third grade and Henry is in fourth!"

The mention of her son (not many kids named Henry these days, and it would be like him to join in a race, he's a joiner, after all) shouldn't surprise her, Henry's very social and it's not _that_ big of a party, but there's something unexpected about hearing his name from Roland's lips.

Regina and Robin exchange looks, then Regina glances down to the hyper, peppy child next to her and asks, "By any chance, is this Henry wearing a blue shirt and tan shorts?"

Roland purses his lips and screws his eyebrows together. " _You_ know Henry?"

"Wanna know a secret?" The boy nods furiously as he temporarily morphs into a human bobblehead. "Henry is my son."

"Really?" He looks up at his father and smiles shyly. "I want to play at Henry's house, Daddy! He has an air hockey table _and_ a tire swing."

Robin sinks those perfect teeth into his bottom lip before wetting it with his tongue. "Roland, we don't just invite ourselves over to people's houses," he says, tousling his hair. "Why don't you do a little sneak attack on John over there, and I'll watch? I'll be back to play with you later."

The boy follows Robin's pointer finger, and finds this "John" they've been talking about. It appears he's the rather large man standing by the coolers with his back facing them. He's laughing loudly with a few other men, a hamburger in one hand and a beer in the other. Roland spots him and smiles, presses a finger to his lips and _Shhh_ 's the adults, as if they were going to give away this very precarious, top secret operation.

Roland walks up behind John, exaggerating every movement in some attempt to look sly and clever. She catches Robin out of the corner of her eye, he's turned himself around on the bench, elbows propped on the table behind him, and he's just as mesmerized as she is, watching his son as he successfully sneaks behind John and screams what sounds like _BOOO!_

John startles, the beer spills all over him, the hamburger drops. There's no anger, no yelling or even a word of frustration. Roland doesn't have to grow up with that. Lucky kid. Instead, bear hugs, nuggies, and pats on the back are his reward for a successful prank.

John scoops the boy up as the crew walks towards the tented area of the picnic, resuming babysitting duties once again, it seems.

"So," Robin drawls after a moment of silence, "that's my son…."

"I see," Regina chuckles, "quite a big personality for such a little guy."

"He's alright," Robin says, his toothy smile saying no, he is much _more_ than alright.

She suddenly feels guilty for keeping him from his son on this day for so long. And...Henry is entirely self-sufficient, but she should touch base with him, make sure he gets something to eat. So perhaps now they should part ways. At least, until there's a good time to reconvene and meet the rest of the workers

"I should check on Henry," she sighs. "And you should go play with your son. He seems very anxious for your attention."

He nods, "I'll just check on him and make sure his Uncle John isn't just feeding him candy and pretzels." He leans forward to stand up, pivoting on the edge of the bench, looking a bit lost. "But we're going to be under that tent eating for a bit, and I bet your child hasn't had a proper meal, so you're welcome to join us. I still need to introduce you to Mulan."

He's not really reaching. It's true that she needs an introduction to Mulan. But it feels like a request to spend more time with her, and even though she's a bit more touched than she should be (he doesn't want anything more than her body, that is clear, if the talk of his late wife is any indication), she's also giddy and itching with the need to tease him. It would be a lot easier to let these things go if he didn't react so perfectly to being teased: he blushes, gets nervous and fidgety, and it's a sweet sight to her eyes, especially when he's usually so confident and naturally at ease.

She raises an eyebrow and asks _Is that your way of inviting me to lunch with you?_ and it works. The awkward (yet adorable) stammering and blushing blooms up in him, and she can't resist a victorious smile from emerging on her own face as he struggles to tell her he _didn't mean it that way._

God, he's cute when he's flustered.

She really shouldn't be doing this. They are supposed to be friends, and this is dangerously close to flirting. At bare minimum, it's bringing up the fact he's attracted to her, and that's not exactly very friendly, is it?

She waves his explanations off, tells him, _Of course_ he _didn't mean it that way_  and _No offense taken,_ and then excuses herself to go check on Henry.

 

.::.

 

She finds him on the rock wall, is able to make it to see him just reach the top, able to see the look of pride and accomplishment he has at reaching it, able to find his eyes and smile and clap for him when he looks down and around.

Henry looks happy. She had felt a twinge of guilt for taking him here (even seeing how much there was to occupy him) and not spending time with him, especially during _their_ time, the few days they have to themselves. But he's having fun, he's enjoying himself, if the wide toothy grin he flashes is any indication.

She watches as he is lowered to the ground, fighting to free himself of straps and safety harnesses a bit too hurriedly, nearly succumbing to frustration before a kindly man helps him step out of the last strap.

And then he runs to her with an exuberant yelp of _Mom!,_ eyes bright and shimmering with joy, face flushed and skin glistening with the sweat of the day's play.

"This picnic is _awesome!_ " From here she can see his lips are a bit redder than usual, teeth lightly stained the same color red, and well, it would appear he had something to eat, though from the looks of it, it was nothing nutritious. "Did you see me climb? I made it to the top. Not everyone can make it. Even some of the adults can't make it."

"I saw, I saw. You made it look easy."

"You should try!" He begs, pulling her to the small line that's formed.

"Henry, I'm in a dress. There's no way I can do the rock wall in a dress."

He's about ready to argue when he must think of the mechanics of his mother up high in a dress, and then he scowls. "Oh."

He prattles on about his day, about the things he did and the people he met, about a scavenger hunt and races and please can he go on the water slide? It's only water; his clothes will dry.

She walks him over to the food while he talks, promising to play at least one game or possibly even go down the slide.

"What have you had to eat today?" She asks, and his face screws into something combined with remorse and reluctance, tongue clicking on the roof of his mouth.

"Alright, I'm fixing you a plate before you pass out from whatever sugar high you have."

Henry whines and mutters something about being able to fix his _own_ plate of food, but Regina just gives him a pointed stare in return.

"Why don't you grab those two seats on the end of that table over there and we'll eat and you'll tell me how we are going to spend our day tomorrow?"

She's going to eat alone with her son and give Robin time to enjoy the picnic. They can meet up later, right before the picnic's end. Give him space. This day means something to him, after all, and she really shouldn't be taking time away from it.

She's lost in thought, desperately trying to put away the past, to release old guilt that has resurfaced ever since Robin spoke about his late wife, so she can return to Henry and give him the undivided attention he's entitled to, when someone speaks behind her.

"So you work for Gold. What's that like?"

She had pictured her conversation with Mulan several different (slightly scripted) ways, but never had she expected being surprised into a conversation while loading up two plates of food.

If she wasn't distracted and flustered, she would have had a much more polished response to such a question. But Mulan's caught her when she's distracted and frankly, her head's not in the game.

"Have you met Gold?" she asks, and Mulan gives her a nod. There's something in her eyes Regina picks up on, that hint of mild annoyance with him. Before she can remind herself that you do not trash your boss to your client, Regina exhales slowly and says, "Well, working for him is about what you'd expect from a man like Gold."

But her honesty pays off and Mulan shouts a little _HA!_ And then she looks...more relaxed.

"So you're supposed to tell me what to do."

Mulan is in short little jean shorts and a red spaghetti strapped top. Her hair is in a ponytail, her skin is glistening with sweat. She's been playing all day. What's more, visible tan lines on her shoulders indicate this isn't the first day she's had out in the sun this season.

Robin is right. She _is_ a child. The future member of the board of directors of a Fortune 100 company is an absolute child.

Regina loves it.

"I'm supposed to offer you advice, not tell you what to do," Regina corrects, "I'm not about to boss around the CEO of a startup _this_ successful. I may be good at my job, but my ego has limits."

"Not so sure your boss's ego has any limits," Mulan counters, tilting her head skeptically. "He credits himself for everything. I met him at this fundraiser once. He was a complete asshole."

"He's an acquired taste," Regina settles on, flashing Mulan a look as if to say she agrees with her, "but I must admit he usually gives good advice, personality and hubris aside."

Mulan points to Regina's two plates. "So are you extra hungry, or does one of those have to go to someone?"

"My son, over there," Regina points to Henry, who apparently has already made friends with the person sitting next to him (that's Henry though, her little social boy. Taking after Daniel instead of her), "has already eaten his share of dessert for the day, so I am trying to get something somewhat nutritious into him." And because she doesn't want to sound ungrateful, she adds, "By the way, thank you for inviting us."

You can thank Robin for that," Mulan mutters, her eyes not leaving Henry, a sly smile on her face, "he's the one who arranges all of this." She appears to have lost interest in this conversation, and begins to walk away. Regina is confused until Mulan motions her to follow.

"Hey, Henry!" Mulan calls when they reach the table, as Regina slides the plate of food under him.

"Hey, Mulan!" Henry chirps. "So you met my mom?"

Well, it seems introductions are not in order.

Mulan glances over at Regina, soaking in her obvious shock, and then says, "Your son put up a good fight in the potato sack race, I must say."

"Second place!" Henry says before biting into a burger.

"I beat ya though."

"Only because your legs are longer," Henry says with a mouthful of burger, shutting his mouth immediately when Regina lets out a warning _Henry._

"Henry do you mind if I talk to your mom real quick?" Mulan asks. Henry nods, as if it were a simple request, and with that Mulan pulls up a chair, sitting at the end of the long table, motioning for Regina to take her seat.

Well alright then. They're going to talk business right in front of her son.

"So you're going to want to know every little bit about me," Mulan says flippantly, "I know it, and I'm prepared for it. But I want to know a little about you. I mean, it's only fair right? I need to trust you, too?"

It's not _really_ how this is supposed to go. But still, it's often the way clients (Mulan isn't the client, Constellation is, she reminds herself) open up, and she's done it before.

"Of course," Regina says, slightly tensing, "What do you want to know?"

Mulan turns to Henry instead, ignoring his mother. "Does your mother have any interest in any sport at all?"

Henry smirks, "Baseball. She pretends to like football sometimes but I know she doesn't like it."

Mulan turns to Regina and quips, "If your favorite team is the Yankees, we're going to have problems."

And the conversation evolves into small talk between the three of them, Mulan encouraging Henry to share embarrassing stories of his mom, adding in some of her own, and it is _hands down_ the weirdest meeting with a client she's ever had. In fact it feels like she's the new girlfriend arriving and being evaluated by an overprotective mother than anything business related.

When Henry finishes his plate (even the cut up veggies Regina had insisted he eat) he asks if he can go meet up with Phil and Andrea, pointing to the children talking right outside the tent, and Regina nods, sending him along.

"He's a good kid," Mulan muses as she comes back from the cooler, handing Regina an open bottle of beer and sipping one herself. Her eyes are focused on Henry, watching how easily he gets on with his friends. "You've done a great job with him."

There's that feeling she gets when someone compliments Henry, or says how confident, or smart, or naturally at ease Henry is, that combination of guilt, relief, and even something that feels like pride. Mulan doesn't know how hard it's been. Mulan doesn't know how much she legitimately has to worry about Henry, about whatever fears he may live with, whatever anger or hostility he may grow to have towards her for what she subjected him to in his youth. Mulan can probably guess that her little boy is her world, but does she know that giving him a good life, a life he deserves is her one true purpose in life, the only reason she's fought so hard for so long, and hasn't just given up.

There's no way to thank a person for giving them a compliment on that scale, so Regina just smiles gratefully back at the woman, knowing her eyes probably convey the depth of her gratitude.

"So, Robin speaks highly of you," Mulan says in a voice that sounds like it's _trying_ to be nonchalant, but doesn't quite reach that level.

"Does he?" Regina asks, trying to make her voice sound just as cool and detached when she adds, "He knows his stuff. Seems very proud of your company. And he's," she struggles with the right words to describe Robin to his boss and apparently close friend, pausing for a beat before finishing with, "a lot of fun."

Mulan's face screws up to something that looks like disagreement before her face relaxes. "He really is, I guess. Still."

"What does that mean?"

Mulan shrugs, and takes a sip of her beer. "Just, I don't know. Forget it."

Regina itches to talk business, but Robin had warned her that you should approach Mulan in much the same way you would approach a frightened deer in the forest. You have to approach carefully so as not to frighten her away, have her scamper off and disappear from you forever.

So she doesn't talk about branding, or press releases, or how to wear her hair. Instead she makes conversation about the people she met, their personalities, complementing Mulan on the family she has built within this company. And it's genuine, it truly is. They are an interesting bunch, and Mulan must pick up on the sincerity, because she speaks free and easily about all of them.

"Fuck it, I like you," Mulan declares in the middle of a conversation about the more redeeming qualities of their sales staff. "I was sure I was going to hate you, too."

"Sorry to disappoint," Regina quips before she can stop herself. But as she sees the smile cross Mulan's face, she knows it was the right thing to say.

"He likes you, too, you know."

So much for business.

Regina shrugs the compliment off, but Mulan presses on.

"You don't really see Robin act comfortable around new people. Not anymore anyway. Before, well, do you know about his wife?"

Regina nods. Why are they talking about this?

"They were disgustingly in love. We were friends in college, and he only had eyes for her. Rare for a college student, you know? But even more rare for someone with his personality. He was wild, man. Bold, daring, not afraid of anything — an adrenaline junky. Marian was always the person keeping him just a bit grounded. And then, well, she died. And he just became…"

Mulan's focusing on something behind her now, not just watching the crowd, but staring at something, and when she follows her gaze Regina finds Robin talking to a small group of men who are laughing at whatever the hell he's saying. Mulan's studying him, a tender expression on her face, perhaps a little concerned. More like the look of a worried mother than a boss.

And the personal nature of this conversation hits her like a ton of bricks.

She _definitely_  shouldn't be hearing this. It's not business related and certainly not fair to Robin. But before she can try to shift the conversation Mulan continues.

"...it's like someone turned off the switch and killed the light behind his eyes," she settles on after a few beats. "I didn't think he'd ever really recover from her loss. Honestly, I worried if we didn't drag him out sometimes he'd spend every hour he wasn't with Roland staring at the walls until he fell asleep."

There's a bit of pain felt at the revelation, a squeezing in her chest, a stab of regret, remorse for a first impression gone wrong. She curses any small part of her who still had doubts as to Robin's character based on one night where, by all accounts, he was the best client she had ever had. Good men make mistakes (and she was a mistake, no question). The night he booked wasn't because he secretly demeaned or objectified women. It was a moment of weakness for a grieving, lonely widower.

It's a bit horrible, however, to be remembered as a good man's worst decision.

But she won't dwell on that.

She realizes no one has said anything for quite sometime, and glances back at Mulan, only to find the woman has been watching her stare at Robin for the past few moments. Her eyes are slanted, head cocked as if she's trying to read the situation. And suddenly, Regina feels exposed.

"Sorry, I shouldn't be unloading this on you," Mulan finally says with a groan, " It's just...it's not entirely unrelated to business. Because the thing of it is," she leans forward and her voice goes solemn and low, "I can build a thousand companies. But there's only one Robin. This company is nothing without people like him and —"

"You two getting acquainted, I see?"

Robin has snuck up behind them, it seems, and how much he heard of the conversation is yet unknown, but judging from the way he reacted to Leroy believing they were together, she braces herself, prepared to turn around to find him tense and fuming. But he's not, he looks a bit sheepish, almost apologetic when he sees her. They had a plan for meeting Mulan, after all. And it definitely wasn't this.

"We were just talking about you, Robin." Mulan smirks, her eyes sparkling and dancing in the stray rays of sunlight that find their way through the tent.

"All good things, I assume?" Robin takes Henry's vacant seat to join them, face colored with amusement.

Regina meets Mulan's eyes, raising her eyebrow in question. But before she can say anything, Robin laughs.

"So I can assume you've bonded over embarrassing stories about me, then? It's fine, I'm willing to spare my pride if it means you two are having a nice time."

"We are," Mulan gives. "I met Regina's son first. Now, Regina isn't quite as fun as Henry is, but….she's alright I guess."

Robin's smile is a bit too goofy, a bit too broad when he bobs his head and agrees.

"So I'm going to finish celebrating," Mulan sighs, "I'm going to leave you two for now. I'm sure I will see you around. I gotta say hi to Aurora already."

"Good luck," Robin calls, but she only grunts a response as she walks away.

His eyes flicker back to Regina's, and he gives her an apologetic frown, fidgeting a bit before saying, "Sorry. I know that wasn't how you intended to meet Mulan."

Regina shrugs. "It wasn't so bad. Of course, we didn't talk about business at all…"

"You weren't going to anyway. She's not going to listen to you unless she thinks you understand the company. And to Mulan, that doesn't mean pouring over a pile of financial disclosures and mission statements. She thinks you have to join the team and experience the vibe."

"I'm gathering that."

He still looks a bit sour from the events of the day. Exhausted, if nothing else, but he's clearly not his jovial self.

"How are you holding up?" she asks.

He scratches the back of his head and takes a deep breath out. "I'm fine. I'm sorry about before, it's just hard…."

And because that look of sadness and pain when he spoke of his wife is still fresh in her mind, and because she's never told him before, she grabs his hand, squeezes tight, and reveals one of her better kept secrets.

"I lost someone, too."

He looks at her, tilts his head, and squeezes her hand back. "Oh?"

"Henry's real father," she says, her voice falling into a low whisper, barely audible over the steady buzz of the festivities, "I was six weeks pregnant when I lost him."

Robin's eyes go wide, and he weaves his fingers through hers, his expression and the gentle gestures of his hands replacing the need for words. Still, he offers a low, _I'm so sorry._

"He was hit by a drunk driver. We had just found out I was pregnant, and—" it's an old wound, but old wounds can still tear open, can still hurt, and the memories of the pain from when they were fresh can still make your eyes water, "it's been nine years. But it still feels like yesterday sometimes. So I know what you're feeling."

"Are you going to tell me it gets easier?" he asks, his voice breaking just a bit. His gaze has dropped to their joined hands, and his other hand goes to cover them, softly caressing over them absently.

"No," Regina says softly, "Just that I understand. Daniel was my first and my last love too, and—"

Robin's eyebrow raises, his face cocks into a an angle She knows what must be going through his mind. Questions of why she married that man, why she let him be Henry's legal father, and it's all crushing, the weight of her past sins.

"You probably think I'm an awful person," she breathes, suddenly aware that he knows _enough._ He now knows she was pregnant with another man's child and besmirched his memory by putting another man's name on Henry's birth certificate. He knows just enough to think she's awful.

And yet, "No, Regina, I don't." His voice is strong and firm, not a hint of a waiver. "I know you well enough to know you've got a good heart. And I can't imagine what you've been through, and I don't have any right to ask, and yet…"

A part of her just wants to tell someone, finally tell someone besides Mal, just letting it out to one person would feel so...freeing. But if she told him, he'd never look at her the way he does now. Never hold her hand and offer her comfort. He'd never flirt with her in an email, probably would never even oggle her in that cute, innocent way that he does. And, frankly, he might lose all trust in her, and she'd lose this account the second that happened. So she shuts her mouth tight and swallows the last part of her secret.

"It's a long story," she says, answering the question she knows is on his lips, "one I don't want to get into just now. But I thought you deserved to know that I understand." She shakes her head, pushing away the memories of how her loved ones will forever think she cared nothing for Daniel. "And everyone knows how much you love and cherish Marian. You're a good man. The more I see of you, the more I like."

His eyebrows raise and his eyes go wide in a sort of gratitude that reminds her of their first night together, right before he left, when he launched into an unexpected string of praise and appreciation that was without a doubt the best gift she's ever received from a client. "Thank you," he whispers, his eyes still locked in hers.

She can't help the way her head tilts in return to that look, and the way her fingers brush up and down his palms. But when she hears the slight hum that comes out from her mouth, something snaps her out of it.

 _Not for you. He's not for you._ The voice in her head warns. Even if he wanted her _that_ way, even if he saw her as more than a friend that can help distract him from his grief, she's still not going to be able to be what he needs, what he deserves.

"I promised Henry I'd get involved in some of these games before the day was over," she says, jerking her hand out of his harshly.

Robin clears his throat and mutters an _Of course, don't let me keep you,_ and the awkwardness of the shift in mood spins out, topples over them and falls flat. And she finds that she really doesn't want to end their time today like this.

"Would you and Roland care to join us for a bit?"

He takes her up on the offer.

 

.::.

 

"Robin, stop cheating!" Henry squeals as Robin puts his hands over Henry's eyes. They are in a rather...intense game of cornhole. Henry had the idea for them to play as a team, adults versus children, though at this point she wasn't entirely sure her teammate qualifies as an adult.

Robin's first round went badly (purposely so, Regina thinks, and while she doesn't condone letting children win all the time, it's rather cute when Robin does it). Henry had laughed when the beanbags fell short on the grass, asking if Robin wanted to practice a little before the "real game." Robin had turned boyish, then, throwing his head back in mock offense, and then daring either of the boys to do better. It had been clear from Henry's first toss that he was good at this, and likely to beat him. And so the grown man has been trying to sabotage an eight year old's throws. It's...ridiculously juvenile, this competition between them, yet she's not quite sure she's ever seen someone act more like a father than the goofy man in front of her.

"Mommmmmm tell Robin to stop!" Henry shrieks as he tries to slap Robin's hand away, but the tone of his voice tells her he's enjoying this, enjoying Robin's antics. And she has to admit, she's enjoying them, herself.

"Boys," Regina says with a warning tone, "let's try and play fair, now, shall we?"

"All's fair in a love and cornhole," Robin retorts, before grabbing the beanbag out of Henry's hand and holding it high in the air, "I have to confiscate this, you're too good at this game, and you're going to embarrass me. It's for the greater good."

"Robin!" Henry jumps and grabs the beanbag from his hand, "I'm going to beat you!"

"Daddy, that's not playing fair!" Roland admonishes, "No one likes a sore loser."

Regina nearly collapses in laughter as the four year old scolds his own father, face screwed into a rather adult-looking disappointed frown, hands on his hips, eyebrows raised pointedly. He's probably imitating Robin now, using his own words against him.

"You're right, my boy. I was wrong. Henry, please continue your game of cornhole. I will accept my loss like a man."

"You're going to be _really_ upset when my mom does better than you," Henry says before tossing the beanbag, letting out a little whoop when it lands close to the hole.

"No, I won't. I'll be proud to know I have such a great teammate," Robin retorts, sticking his tongue out at Henry.

And when it's Regina's turn to play, she catches the look of admiration in Robin's eyes when she has a rather successful group of tosses herself.

"Any other hidden talents I should know about?" Robin whispers into her ear as he watches Roland play, taking the "two giant steps forward" they've agreed Roland is allowed for having "little arms".

"I could tell you, but wouldn't you rather be surprised?" Regina responds, raising an eyebrow when she sees him smirk at her.

Henry and Roland win the game, but their victory is narrow, the game contentious. Regina realizes, as they taunt and tease and celebrate, that she doesn't get to see these interactions often. So many of Henry's playdates are strategically arranged so she can go to a meeting for one job or the other, and many of the playdates she arranges at her house are often thank yous and paybacks to the parents who have invited her son into their homes. There haven't been many opportunities to interact with a fellow parent and his own son, and there's something fulfilling about it. She knows her son has won over many parents, coaches, and teachers, but hearing about it and _seeing_ it are different things, and she enjoys the playful rapport Robin and Henry have developed so quickly.

"Next, we're going to go on the slide," Henry says, pointing to the giant inflatable slide.

"Alright," Regina says, "I'll take pictures of you guys going down. Remember to make funny faces!"

"You aren't coming down the slide too, Regina?" Roland asks, pouting gamely at her.

"Take those puppy dog eyes away from me, Mister. Henry has used them enough on me to become immune to their powers."

Henry grabs her arm and pulls her toward the slide, "Come on, Mom! It'll be fun."

"Henry, I've got heels on…"

"Take them off!"

"I'm in a dress!"

"That's not an excuse!" Henry cries, "Andrea's wearing a skirt, and _she_ went down the slide."

"Andrea's a little girl. The rules are different."

"Andrea's not a little girl! Andrea's in _third grade._ " Roland pipes up, ever quick to take issue with the subtle flaws in her argument.

"I think I know what's wrong, boys," Robin's mouth twists into a playful grin, and then he says, "Henry, I think your mother is scared of the slide."

"Am not," she huffs. She can't help but laugh when she hears her own words. Robin's rubbed off on her, it seems. Now she is behaving as a child.

"Regina come onnnn," Roland begs, grabbing the arm Henry is holding, tugging along with him. "Please, please, please."

Henry joins in the chant, Robin just observes the scene gleefully, and it would be annoying if it weren't so adorable.

"Regina I'll sit on your lap if you are scared!" Roland offers, "You can hold onto me tight, I will protect you!"

Robin and Henry both laugh at that, and Regina, try as she might, can't help her mouth from splitting into a smile.

"What do you think, Regina? Could you muster up some courage to go down that slide if Roland is by your side?" Robin's eyes twinkle in the sunlight, full of mischief and and amusement. He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and smiles at her, sizing her up as if he's trying to decide whether she is fit to handle the task.

"Well," she tilts her head and looks at Robin, "If he's in my lap he can at least keep the skirt of my dress from coming up."

She could swear she hears Robin mutter a _pity, that is_ in response, but well, if he did, it's certainly not an appropriate comment in front of her son. And, if he did say that, he immediately regrets it, because something has him wincing and looking sheepish. So she lets it go and offers him a knowing smirk instead.

They have to sweet talk the slide attendant a bit, two at a time isn't allowed, but Robin makes some convincing arguments and Roland's just too adorable to turn down.

And that's how she ends up with someone else's son in her lap on an inflatable slide.

Everything about the situation should scream awkward, but it feels natural and easy, Roland leaning into her, whispering words about how _fun_ the slide will be and how _she shouldn't be scared_ . But he yells out a _Ready, set, GO!_ in that excited, innocent way, and she cannot help but feel a bit overwhelmed. Tears sting in the back of her eyes, prickling, threatening to spill free, and she begs them to stand down, she won't cry when she thinks about the adorable boy in her lap, and how his father showed no hesitation in letting his son cling to her, letting her care for him, despite knowing what she _is_ and what she _does._ She won't get emotional over this feeling of acceptance, over being able to share in the simple pleasures that normal families can indulge in. But still, it's nice to feel this way, whatever it is.

But it doesn't really help with feelings she has that she won't give a name to, seeing how Henry gets along with Roland, seeing the way Robin naturally gets along with Henry. It doesn't really do anything to unblur the lines between business and friendship and _more than that_ when the three of them gang up to tease her for refusing to play a game of giant twister. And when Henry and Roland split a twin pop popsicle together, laughing and revelling in the sticky, sugary treat, well, that's when everything she's not letting herself feel explodes inside her and she knows she's in trouble.

"Come here," she calls to Roland, upon seeing his sticky green fingers when the treat is done, about half reaching his mouth, the other dripping on the grass or over his hands.. She's on autopilot, taking baby wipes out of her purse and rubbing them over his hands as he scowls.

"I always forget those." Robin says in a regretful whisper.

She murmurs a _No problem_ and calls out to Henry, who dutiful collects a wipe and scrubs his hands with it. They are sticky and dirty as well - not quite as bad as Roland, but certainly nothing he should be running around with.

"We have to be going soon," she says to Henry. His scowl perfectly sums up her feelings on the matter, but it's been a long day, and she's overstayed her welcome. This day wasn't supposed to be some odd sort of play date between an eight and soon-to-be five year old.

"Can we go on the water slide?" Henry asks then, "Just one time?"

Regina frowns. She has a towel in the car, but the idea of Henry in wet shorts - however briefly he's in them — sounds uncomfortable. But well, that's his decision, isn't it? "Sure. But then we're going straight home. And take off your shirt, so you at least have one dry item of clothing."

Henry strips off his shirt, and Roland does the same, running alongside Henry as they race each other to the water slide.

"Good kid," Robin murmurs as they watch their kids run off. "He sure loves his mom."

"I think I have about two to three more years before he stops wanting to spend time with me. I'm soaking up the time while I've got it," she smiles back, "Thank you, by the way. For today. It...it was great for Henry."

Robin shrugs, "It's nothing, it's just a party."

"I don't mean the party." She breathes out the confession just above a whisper, and for a second she can't believe she actually said it. "Thanks for spending time with him. He deserves a bit of normalcy. At functions like these, well...he's got to rely on me, and I try, but ..."

"You more than try," Robin reminds her. "You had no problem jumping in and playing with us boys, dress and heels and all." He winks at her, a cute, little thing, and she feels her heart pound loud and fast inside of her in answer.

"Still, it's good for him to see examples of good men, good fathers and the like." She leaves the reason unspoken, but he picks up on it immediately.

"I don't think you have to worry about that. Henry knows how to be a good man," Robin assures her. "And he can learn everything he needs to know about being a good man from his mom, yeah? Almost everything. If he needs someone to teach him how to get a close shave in a few years, let me know."

"I'll keep you in mind," she coos, but she knows by the time Henry has hair on his face, Robin will be a distant memory.

The boys return wet and sunkissed and happy. Soaked, dripping shorts and sneakers in their hands.

They all walk to her car together. Robin and Roland are staying at the picnic for a bit longer, but she assumes it's some form of chivalry, showing a lady to her car. And before she can open the car door, a drenched ittle Roland throws his hands around her and hugs her, hard.

She sees Robin wince, but he shouldn't. Her dress will dry. She welcomes the hug with open arms.

She means the next gesture to be a tease. Roland's gotten her dress all wet, and she wants to similarly dampen Robin's clothes. But when she leans into hug him, and wraps her hands around him, it's suddenly not so funny. She finds herself kissing the man's cheek, for god's sake, before she can think better of it.

They leave shortly thereafter. She holds her breath for a bit, but thankfully, Henry doesn't say anything of her awkward little kiss.

 

.::.

 

It's been a rollercoaster of a day. Coordinating everything was a headache, and there'd been the expectation of the pain that usually accompanies this day, the reminder of what he lost, _who_ he lost, that he usually carries with him.

Except this time, the memories weren't quite so oppressive.

It's only been four years. Technically, it's been three years and ten months. So, not even four years. Three years, ten months, and six days and he doesn't feel the need to weep in a corner again, doesn't feel the emptiness that usually surrounds him on this day, when he watches his friends and coworkers interact with their families.

He misses the way he used to miss her. Misses the pain grieving her brought him. That pain was a constant reminder of Marian's presence and with it, he never worried he would forget her or sully her memory.

All of these thoughts flood his mind when Regina leaves the party, when he sees Roland throw his arms around her, and then again when she loops her arm around Robin's torso gently. His heart is racing, his breath catching in his chest over the innocent touch, and it's a familiar feeling until her lips hit the skin of his cheek and her warm breath is tickling his ear with promises to talk to him soon.

That anticipation, that moment between feeling her arms around him and feeling her lips on his skin, he has truly only felt that once before. , As a teenager, before his first real kiss with Marian.

And that's a cruel joke, isn't it? Finally someone has him feel what he thought he could never feel again, and she's off limits.

"You should ask her out," Mulan suggests casually as they walk to their cars.

"Who?" he asks, and the exaggerated eyeroll Mulan gives him in return is almost worth his failed attempt at ignorance.

"She likes you, too, you know." Mulan is venturing into dangerous territory, and she knows it. He doesn't like the implication that he has feelings for someone else, hates it, in fact, would probably have told Mulan to go fuck herself right then and there had Regina not so recently talked him off a ledge.

"I can assure you she does not," Robin answers quickly.

"But you like her." Mulan fishes her keys out of her knapsack and gets in her car. He thinks she will just drive off and leave the conversation as is, but she stares at him, keys in the ignition, car idling, waiting for his response.

"Fine," Robin groans. "She's gorgeous. You think so, too. That doesn't mean anything."

"Robin," Mulan whines, "why are you fighting this? Because if it's about Marian, you know what she would have wanted. "

He doesn't answer, and a pregnant pause grows between them before she gives up and changes the topic, thanking him for all his hard work with the picnic.

He watches Mulan drive away as he waves through clenched teeth and rising blood pressure, trying to quell the anger bubbling up inside of him once again directed at Leroy, and now Mulan, and nearly all of his happy coworkers. Though frankly, that anger should probably be directed inward.

It's a low blow bringing Marian up, but Mulan wasn't wrong. She knows as well as he does that Marian did not want Robin to honor her memory with pain and misery. He wasn't supposed to feel this gnawing guilt at the thought of seeing someone new, feeling things that he had only felt for one other person in his entire life. Just the thought of replacing someone for the role Marian played in his life story, it seemed unforgivable. And yet, exactly what she had wanted.

The letter, the one she gave him right before the surgery, the one he keeps in his nightstand and reads, over and over again, that letter could not have been more clear. And the passage he has long since memorized spins in his head.

_I know we discussed that we will only think of positive thoughts, that there's no need to bother our time together mulling over 'what if's', so that is why I'm writing this to you. Should the surgery go poorly, (should I die, or become a vegetable), know that my last and dying wish is that you don't stop living just because I did. Take chances. Dive into whatever life throws your way. Open yourself up to new challenges, new cultures, new experiences, and yes, new loves._

_Please love again. It's hard for me to imagine a life without you, and as we are so similar I'm sure you have the same problem. But I wouldn't want the universe to miss out on all the things that Robin Locksley brings just because I'm not by his side. So love someone the way you love me, make someone as happy and fulfilled and safe as you make me. Love deeply and truly, the way you were born to do. You don't just have my blessing to move on, it is in fact my last wish that you do so. For you as much as for Roland. Find someone who can fill the house with laughter and love and joy, who helps raise Roland to be as confident and brave and unafraid as his father…_

Initially that part of the letter had angered him, and he obstinately refused to even entertain complying with his late wife's dying request, as he ranted to Mulan how _unfair_ and _callous_ and _selfish_ it was of her to write him this (it wasn't, he knew it wasn't, it was the opposite of all these things. Caring, and sweet and selfless and absolutely fair of her to request this sort of life for her son, but…). Mulan had told him to give it time, to reassess, and to remember her words when the time was right.

But he was so stubbornly against finding anyone to replace her that when the need for companionship overwhelmed him, he found himself looking for an arrangement that could definitely lead to nothing further. Hiring escorts to appease his loneliness was certainly not the life Marian had wanted for him. But he had done it, and now, in some sort of beautiful irony, the first person he felt a connection to was the woman he had hired specifically to avoid such feelings.

He is falling for her.

No, he's already fallen. It's happened far too fast and it may seem ridiculous, but he knew he was a goner when he kissed Marian as a teenager in a crowded parking lot, and he had been right about that, hadn't he?

 

.::.

 

There's a haze over the rest of the day she can't quite place, a stab in her heart that has no right to be there. She's stuck on repeat, replaying little moments of the day, indulging in the memory of Robin dumping a bottle of water over his head after the activities of the day had him red faced and sweaty, then torturing herself with the way he looked at her when she played with his son. And then she's back to scolding herself with Mulan's warning about his fragile little heart, and wallowing in the way he reacted when the IT guy thought they were together. And yet, her heart still flutters when she remembers how Henry looked and called out to him, and she finds herself shivering when she remembers the way his breath had sucked in when she had kissed his cheek and said goodbye.

She needs to stop.

She searches for a distraction. Paying bills, checking emails. And then she sees an email in her _other_ work account. One that needs to be answered.

One of her regulars is requesting an overnight. Overnights are easy money, and Jefferson may be an aging trust fund kid with no direction and a growing pill addiction, but he's not dangerous. He's an easy client to please.

So this should be good news. Seeing that he wants to pay her an exorbitant amount of money to order expensive room service, watch him snort a line of Special K, listen to him prattle on about his life, and eventually (normally) get him off only once before he passes out for the night.

But tonight this request brings her no joy. It only serves to remind her that the day she just had was visiting a life she will never know — never have. Doesn't deserve to have, after all.

She feels guilt again — the bubbling, obnoxious brew of self-loathing and regret that threatens to boil over inside her, twisting and burning her insides. She welcomes that feeling like an old friend, one you know well, but haven't seen in years. She has long since made peace with who she is, what she does, where her morals are, and frankly, it doesn't bother her anymore. But for some reason, fate saw fit to grant her a reprieve, giving her just enough self worth to remember what she's doing is wrong and morally dubious.

Then she remembers David's warning about the custody battle and her thoughts fly to visitation and Leo's cold hands on her dear son. The guilt transforms into determination and she yet again reminds herself what is at stake.


	9. Chapter 9

Every Tuesday at six-o'clock sharp, Regina drops Henry off at the Family Solutions Center. She still has a restraining order against Leo, and to avoid coming into contact with him, the center has asked she use the side door and wait for the social worker, Ms. Rosa.

She's on their side, Regina thinks. At least, Rosa has been there since the custody plan was set in action. She is privy to the records, and she knows Leo's temper. She knows how he hurt Regina in front of her son, and how when he got custody back from her, he yet _again_ ruined it with a public slap to a four year old's face. She's aware of how many times Leo simply did not show up to these meetings at all, and when he does, how disinterested he is in Henry. He's allowed to take Henry out - Rosa has made it clear she will go out to dinner with them, or even accompany Henry and Leo into the Blanchard home.

But according to Henry, Leo does not do that. He sits in the recreational room and plays with his phone while Henry entertains himself. Her son is good sport, though. He tells her they have video games there, and they order pizza. Sometimes, Ms. Rosa has ice cream cups. He tells her it's not so bad.

The thing is she's not sure she believes him, truly. He's already far too good at noticing her moods. He already has this need to protect her — she sees it far too often and hates the thought of her little boy feeling the need to tell his mother white lies so she doesn't cry herself to sleep at night.

She hopes he's still oblivious to how serious it all is, to how terrified she is, deep inside. She tries desperately to hide all of that from him, but Henry is a perceptive boy, and he's getting older.

He's all smiles when he sees Ms. Rosa, walks over and grabs her hand, waving goodbye to Regina as if he did not have a care in the world.

And all Regina has had to do now, as she has done for the last three-and-a-half years, is to avoid a panic attack. She has to wait out these two hours where her son is in a room with a viper, and then prepare for next week, where she gets to do this all over again.

At least it's only once a week. For now.

 

_.::._

 

Handing Henry over into the arms of a monster is never easy. When she the judge first ordered for this visitation scheduled, he assured Regina it would get easier over time. Social workers said the same.

So far, that has not proved to be true. Her ex-husband is a vindictive asshole who can snap in an instant, he's with her son, and she isn't there to protect him. How could that ever be easy?

But over this time she has developed a rather good routine.

The center is close to her house, so she has more than enough time to pop home and clean, or hell, just take a much needed vacation from her life and vegetate in front of the television. But she never does go home, never allows herself to get too comfortable during these trips. Instead, she treats herself to a dinner at the nearby Panera Bread. Or she just nervously walks the aisles of a Marshalls or the grocery store down the street. And sometimes she just drives. Drives around and around listening to music, waiting for a phone call just in case she's needed to rush back and get Henry early.

In the cooler months, right before it's time to pick Henry up she will buy some hot chocolate from the coffee shop down the street, and has it ready for him on his way out.

In the warmer months, she goes for baked goods from the Muffin Man, chocolate and peanut butter brownies, oreo cake, or a few of their giant, homemade cookies. The kid has a belly full of pizza and sometimes his own dessert at the center, he has no need for this extra sugar.

But she enjoys giving it to him. Maybe it's just an extra something to look forward to. Maybe it washes down the guilt she has of the situation he's in.

Because this is entirely her fault.

Leo manipulated her, maybe. Lied, maybe. But she agreed to it all, agreed to let this man into her life, and now she's damned them both.

 

_.::._

 

_She fiddles nervously with her glass of water. Her eyes are still puffy, breath still shaky from her meltdown in Daniel's office._

_Leo's hand is soothing over hers from across the table. When she looks up at him, he shoots her a look so sympathetic, so sweet._

_It's much appreciated, because she has no one._

_Well, she has her friends. Not very many, but she does have Emma. Of course, Emma has her own problems and her own life, and Emma is falling in love with Neal and they will be married and have a perfect life together and will have no time for the weepy wanderings of an almost-widow._

_She has no family._

_Her mother has made it clear that she is not welcome at home, not unless she gives up the only part of Daniel that remains. And she would rather die than abort or give this baby away. Daniel's death has only solidified how much she loves and wants this child._

_Daddy told her he was disappointed with her, and his words still burn at her from the inside, still keep her up at night, and still make her lose her appetite. He loves her, but he had said he was so disappointed. And that if she chose this life, chose to stay with Daniel, he could not help support her._

_Weeks later, Daniel died, and perhaps that changes things. Perhaps they didn't mean those words, and would gladly take her home. A grieving fiancé with a baby in her belly, surely even the most unforgiving of parents could find their way to help someone so pitiful?_

_But she's too stubborn to even ask for the help. She'd rather never see them again. After the way they disrespected Daniel, she doesn't think she will ever feel at home with them again._

_So she has no one looking out for her. No family, no kindly father figure telling her that it's going to be alright or it's okay to grieve._

_When she looks into Leo's eyes, when she listens to his kind words, it almost feels like she has someone again._

" _Daniel meant quite a bit to me," Leo says. His eyes grow misty, and he shakes his head to prevent the tears from dropping. It's curious, Daniel never told her how close he was to his boss. "A very special man. He was a poet, Regina. He was incredibly talented. I wanted him to pursue his creative writing, but he always said he preferred to read the words of others instead…"_

" _He did say that," she mutters tears flowing down her face, "he never knew how gifted he was."_

" _I made sure he knew," Leo assured. "And oh, how he could go on about you."_

_He tells her stories of Daniel, detailed, beautiful stories of the man she loved, and they make her laugh and cry and clutch protectively at her belly, for the unborn child in her womb will never know the beautiful man that Daniel was, and it's forever unfair._

_He takes her to more than just coffee (decaf, or tea, for her, of course). He treats her to dinners. Buys her lunches. Stops in on her at her little apartment, just to make sure she's alright._

_Regina is closed off. She doesn't seek companionship, and even Emma is not sure how to handle her in her grief. She is shut out from the world. Leo notices this, expresses it often, speaks of how her friends have abandoned her, and he doesn't like that, not at all._

_On the third week he makes his proposal._

" _You're struggling," he says matter-of-factly. "Money-wise, I can tell."_

_She looks down into her soup shamefully. "I'll manage," she says above a whisper, "I can break this lease and move somewhere cheaper, I can…"_

" _When the baby comes how will you afford to pay those medical bills? Do you have paid maternity leave as an editing assistant?"_

" _It's contract work," she mutters, "but it... it pays, I can save…"_

" _I'm going to propose something that sounds absurd," Leo interrupts, "I want you to know it's only because I'm quite fond of you, and I want to honor Daniel and his son. Before I continue you must tell me you believe me._

" _I do," she says, and she means it. He's been her rock for these past few weeks, and she's grateful for him._

" _My family has money," Leo says, "but it comes with strings. I want to give you everything, but my accounts are hyper-controlled. I can give you lunches and dinners, but I can't pay your rent like I think I should, as a friend and employer to Daniel."_

" _You owe me nothing," Regina assures, "don't talk like that."_

" _Your son deserves the world," Leo insists, "I can give it to him, and you. You will want for nothing. I can't give you much now, my trust fund, like I said, is highly controlled... but, strings are removed for my wife. And, obviously, should I have a child…"_

" _Oh no, that's absurd," she breathes, but already the idea of not staying up at night worrying how she will pay rent feels so relieving, just the ability to be able to go into a grocery store and buy whatever she wants without scraping and saving. Little things. He could provide her with more, but all she can think of is him taking away the discomfort of her near poverty. "I'll manage, I can't take—"_

" _It's my only opportunity to do something with this money that is actually_ good. _" Leo insists, "and if there were another way... just consider it."_

" _I'd marry you?"_

" _Yes, and we'd pretend the marriage was real, of course."_

" _And, you'd, the baby, you'd—"_

" _Again, for the benefit of the public, he would be mine."_

" _My friends, they know it is Daniel's, of course, and we never told Daniel's family, but my parents—"_

" _Of course, my dear. But I don't see them around much. I doubt them knowing will make much of an impact. They've left you."_

_Reiterating that point always brings her to tears, and this is no exception._

" _I see no other way," Leo soothes. "Am I so bad, that you would be loath to even have this arrangement, for your son's welfare?"_

_Right then, dizzy with loneliness, grief, and desperation, she agrees to marry him, and raise her child as his._

Four days later, they got married in a simple courthouse ceremony.

Daniel's parents heard the news of the engagement. They wrote her a scathing letter, one she forces herself to read too often. Emma had begged her to tell her what happened, what caused her to do this, but Regina's too angry at her friend, too angry at her for leaving her all alone and scared and miserable. So she screams at her that the baby is Leo's. Emma is disgusted with her, shakes her head and says she had always loved her, but based on her behavior now, she guesses she never knew her after all, that maybe she's as evil and as rotten as everyone says.

That's when she had realized. She never truly was alone. She was never truly isolated.

She never truly had no one. Not until the moment Leopold Blanchard made her feel that way.

And by then it was too late. Regina had already married him, and all his promises were just as false as the trash he spewed to get her to agree to this wretched arrangement. She had trapped herself, she let herself get caught in the web of this corrupt, powerful family and she had no idea how to untangle herself. But worst of all, she had trapped Daniel's son in this mess.

She wishes she could go back to sleepless nights of wondering where she will find money for rent. At least she felt honest back then, at least she had options and freedom and self-respect. At least she didn't sell her soul for a penthouse and a closet full of designer apparel.

She may have been poverty stricken, but she wasn't a despicable whore.

It takes her years to get away from Leopold, and yet, she and Henry are never truly out of his grasp and it's all her fault.

And it's just and right that she suffers for it. But not Henry. Never Henry.

 

_.::._

 

She shakes herself of the memory as she parks the car back in the center parking lot. She uses the side entrance to walk in, and with every step she wills herself to tamp down the dark memories and anxiety for the impending hearing. Her son needs her to be her normal self.

But she sees _him._ It happens, more than she likes, on these drop offs. He's lingered in the lobby waiting for her, it seems. He smirks at her, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Looking forward to seeing you in court next week, Regina." Leo spits out, insincere smile on his face. "Your little lawyer is in over his head on this one, I can assure you."

She feels weightless and dizzy, but she's good at concealing these weak moments where her limbs feel like jelly and her mind feels like mush. She just snarks back at him, an eyebrow raised.

"You go on and think that, then," she snarls, "because thus far, underestimating David Nolan has worked quite well for me."

He scowls and stutters a response, and, oh, comments about David's wins get to him, apparently. They shouldn't, there haven't been too many battles. But David did win the restraining order, the temporary full custody, and did convince a judge to the supervised visitation. Of course David had told her to expect this custody arrangement to be challenged immediately. And the only reason this arrangement has stayed for so long is because Leopold had not bothered to ever ask for more time.

She wonders why he's asking now.

Henry is in the lobby with Ms. Rosa now, who is apologetic about Leo. She leans into Regina, whispering _he said he had to use the restroom, I had no idea he would linger around the side entrance. I'm sorry_ but Regina waves it off. She won't let anyone know how much he scares her.

When she and Henry reach the safety and privacy of her car, she asks him how the visit went.

"Okay, I guess," Henry says, strapping himself in. "He asked me if I wanted to see more of him, if I'd like getting courtside NBA tickets. And if I wanted to go to Disney World."

Fucker.

"Oh," Regina responds, trying to keep the mood light. "Well, those things sound very nice."

"I told him I'm pretty busy with school and sports," Henry responds nonchalantly. She can barely swallow the laugh building inside her. She's so proud of him, how he responds to obvious attempts of bribery so smartly. "He thinks I'll forget how mean he is if he takes me to Disney World. I wouldn't want to go with him. He doesn't even like me. I don't know why he wants to spend time with me. I wish he would just leave me alone."

"I'm sorry, Henry," Regina breathes.

"Don't be," he chirps, adjusting the radio from the buttons in the backseat. "It's not your fault."

If only.

She takes him home and hands him a generous slice of oreo cake and milk, and lets him watch television until 9 PM, before she shuffles him off to bed, praying that she's once again kept him from seeing how worried and scared she is over this.

"Tell me a story about my real dad," Henry says as Regina tucks him in.

"Henry…" Regina warns. She could not keep this from him, but she's told them they are _not_ to talk about it unless it's just the two of them. Every time he brings it up, she feels the need to remind him of this.

"I know, I know it's a secret. I can't tell anyone. But I never asked if my dad hated math, too. You're good at it... did I get that from him?"

"You hate math? Since when?"

"Since I have all this summer school work to do," he groans. "It's boring. I hate it."

"Well, your daddy liked math," She recalls. She won't be able to hold back tears unless she can focus on something besides the memory of Daniel's beautiful face scrunched over a calculus equation. "Daniel liked _language._ And math, if you think about it, is just another language. That's what he told me one day, and I thought it was so clever."

She spends the rest of the night explaining the vocabulary and grammar of math, the complex precision of equations as they relate to sentences, and everything else Daniel had told her that made her see the subject through his eyes.

Henry says he will give math another shot. Maybe his father is right.

She's able to hold back those tears until after he's fallen asleep. She lets herself mourn the loss of a good man who would have been a good father, a far better father than she is a mother.

The wrong one of them died.

 

.::.

 

Regina is still riding a wave of anxiety the next morning. And to top it off, today she has lunch with Mal.

Weekday lunches with Mal are unusual. Mal comes over for dinner with Henry, or did, before they had to press pause on those meetings and wait for Mal to clean up and dry out, so Henry wouldn't notice that his beloved Aunt had a very serious problem. She chats with Mal on the phone, and yes, she may occasionally share a bed with Mal when they work together, but it's rare that the two of them indulge in a random get together for pleasure outside Regina's own home. And it's certainly rare that they would have lunch together in the middle of a work day.

Part of the reason she tends not to go out with Mal in the day stems from an irrational worry that Leo would see them and recognize Mal (unlikely, frankly, but possible) and become suspicious as to how Regina spends 4-6 nights a month. Part of it is the fact she already gives up too much of her free time away from Henry, and she likes to reserve whatever is remaining for her son, and as much as Mal loves Henry, the two of them don't share many interests. So she chooses Red Robin dinners and baseball games with her son over cocktails and tapas with Mal.

But perhaps the biggest reason why she doesn't see much of Mal in public is that Mal tends to read her like a book, can expose her and make her feel vulnerable, and it's not something Regina ordinarily likes to feel in when she's around others. Especially now, when her heart and mind are so fragile.

But they are rekindling their friendship, and Mal took care of her son for an entire weekend while she slept off a migraine, She owes her far more than a simple weekday lunch, so she sure as shit isn't going to turn the invitation down.

And that is how Regina finds herself at a hotel restaurant downtown, sitting amongst tourists, a few single businessmen, and what appears to be some conference attendees, with their laminate badges around their necks, chatting and laughing wildly about the day's lectures.

Mal's working today, that much Regina knows. Mal's clientele is very similar to her own, and as such, her attire is very much the same. Sexy, form fitting outfits that still could be considered office appropriate. Understated, professional makeup and accessories. That is Mal's work uniform, indistinguishable from the uniform of any other woman in a high powered profession. She's lucky she has been able to market herself to the gentleman who prefer this look. It's far easier to navigate through an illegal profession when you blend in with the crowd. But, ironically, it's not Mal's natural style. She's… fashion forward. A bit of a risk taker. On her days off you can find her in tight leather pants and a lace top, or something that might show a shocking amount of skin. She may be the only escort who owns a pair of thigh high boots who has never worn them out with a client.

"I'm staying at the Waldorf down the street," she says, the intimation that she's staying there for work is clear and left unsaid.

"Just for the night?"

"No, through Saturday."

Ouch.

Regina tries to school her features to prevent a visible wince, but her efforts fail her. Booking a hotel room for two nights was a significant cost, one agencies only do if they were going to get a lot of bang for their buck. What that means for Mal is she is likely booked for a solid two days of multiple appointments.

Mal shrugs, obviously noticing the way Regina's body tenses to the length in stay. "They're booking me a spa day after checkout. It's not so bad." And then she looks in Regina's eyes, soaks her in for a second, and adds, "You look stressed, little one."

"Custody hearing is next week," Regina reveals, "I don't even know what set him off this time. I should have known he would challenge the arrangement the second he started showing up for these scheduled visitations again. I just wish I knew why."

"Well you know Leo. He's a horrible egomaniac, all it takes is one person giving him a good ribbing for being a bad father and suddenly he cares, just to keep up appearances." Mal waves her hand, "He'll grow bored pursuing custody soon enough, maybe get himself into the mail order bride business. Get himself a nice teenager with no other options."

There's that sickening swishing in her stomach as she feels something heavy and thick fall deep inside of her as she allows moments of a time in her life she care not remember seep through to the surface of her mind. Flashes of the way he looked when he was about to snap at her with a furrowed brow and odd little smile, the way he smelled when he crept into bed late at night, the foul taste of his mouth and the rough touches and pokes of his cock and his fingers at the worst times, the deep growls and low raspy whispered threats he breathed into her ear, and no, she's done with that.

"I don't want to think about that, Mal," she whispers, playing with her glass of water idly.

"Sorry, didn't mean to open old wounds," Mal gives her a split second of sympathy, before shifting back into shark mode. "My point is you can't try to make any sense out of him. But he's a weak little man. And he's easily distracted." Mal takes a breath in and runs a hand absently through her hair (it's a bit wild, a bit untamed, a bit too big, just like her personality). "You could beat him, you know. You keep beating him in court. We could find a better way, and— "

"We've been over this a million times," Regina groans. "There's no better way. He hasn't lost interest and it's been _five years_ , Mal. He's not going to stop until he gets what he wants."

Mal's face screws into disdain, and for a second Regina is worried she will see some of that trademark rage. But instead she sees the uncertainty flicker in her eyes, and she almost looks….sad. "This plan of yours still feels like letting him win."

"But it's not," Regina reminds carefully, keeping her voice calm, "he wants to—"

"He wants to destroy your life." Mal interrupts, "don't let him."

"I won't. Because as long as I have Henry with me, my life won't be destroyed."

Mal stares her down, fire sparking in her eyes and shooting over Regina, and Regina could just about scowl back at her, at the judgmental nature of this woman.

But before they start argue, Mal says flippantly, "I'd just as soon pay one of those Russians who work for the agency on tourist visas to cut off his dick and balls. They'd be out of the country before anyone found out, Leo would probably end his life over it. Win win."

The mood lightens. Regina laughs, and shakes her head. If only. But knowing him, he'd get some sort of magical reconstructive surgery and come out a hero, while Regina and whoever performed the act would be behind bars.

It's too dangerous to be an option. But a girl can dream.

The buzz of her phone distracts her from her thoughts. It's a new email from her work account.

_Regina:_

_Mulan has called a meeting to discuss this company's future. I mentioned you may want to sit in, and Mulan encouraged me to reach out and invite you. I don't anticipate the merger will come up in too much detail, but this is a perfect chance for you to jump in and observe Mulan as a leader._

_And when Mulan shoots off from the mouth and says something incredibly uncouth in front of the entire company, I'll have a chance to observe your poker face. I'm sure it will be a sight to behold._

He gives her the time and the place of the meeting, then adding

 _Roland has not stopped talking about the picnic, by the way. You and Henry breathed some life into what I could have made into a somber event. I want to thank you, again_.

And she smiles despite herself. Not a sly smile, either. This smile is sloppy and toothy and broad, it takes over her face, reaches her eyes, lighting them up until they are dazzling with a carefree, youthful emotion.

"Love note from your favorite client?" Mal asks dryly.

Shit. Caught.

Regina looks up from her phone. "What? No, just a note from Robin about observing a company meeting. It's nothing."

"Sure. That's why you look like you just discovered you're the heir to the throne of Austria," Mal groans, "I know you better than that, Regina. Come on."

"That's all it is," Regina says, and it's true, isn't it? Well, that and, "He thanked me for spending some time with his son during this...company picnic thing," Mal's eyebrow does that dubious arch, because Regina can't help but smile as she brings up the weekend. Right. "It was work related, trust me. But it was... nice. His son, you should see this kid. Doesn't look a thing like his father, but he's adorable just the same. He and Henry played together at the picnic, and then we all spent some time together...it was...nice."

"You took _Henry_ to this?" Mal smiles. "Oh, this is serious. This is sixth date type of stuff." Her voice is playful and teasing, and has Regina feeling a bit defensive. Wasn't it Mal who told her this was okay, to spend more time with Robin? Mal knows her, knows she doesn't involve Henry in any aspect of her work, or let him around people who know her from work. She's protective of her boy. Her clients are often powerful men, and she's had enough of powerful men hurting her son. She should trust her judgment.

Regina shakes her head, "It wasn't a date. My feelings on that have not changed. I met the CEO at the picnic. It was... professional... but… well..." And fuck, she's got to talk to someone about this, and she certainly can't talk to Henry about it. Curse propriety, she puts her elbows on the table and puts her head in her hands and groans, "God, it started off as an opportunity to meet the CEO on her own terms, and I did that, but our children started hanging out, and we ended up doing this weird playdate, and he's... he's _such_ a good father, Mal. His little boy is so polite, and sweet, and Robin, well, he was great with Henry, and it just felt… this is ridiculous, I barely know the man. And he's my client. And my former client."

"And yet you're smitten," Mal says flippant, sipping on her cocktail, "Oh, stop acting like you're the first whore to fall for a client and enjoy it."

"Someone told me that was incredibly unprofessional," Regina mutters, "and a way to get myself hurt."

Mal shrugs. "There are exceptions. And what is done is done.  So does he know everything then?"

Regina shakes her head, "God no. That's not — I don't just tell people about that."

Mal rolls her eyes. "He knows enough to be dangerous anyway. Did I not tell you to go all in or none at all? And what are you doing? This in-between crap. Shit or get off the pot already, Regina."

She doesn't understand this, the push Mal is making to get her to spill her dark secrets to the man she barely knows. Maybe she's hoping it will force Regina to make the right decision and run from this man. Maybe she's hoping she will tell him her plan. After all, it's a plan Mal doesn't agree with, and perhaps she wants some backup, someone else to disagree with her on this. Still, no matter the reason…

"So your suggestion, if I'm understanding," Regina smooths her skirt, then leans forward to whisper, "is to confess to a near-stranger that I currently live a secret life so I can save money for an illegal venture, one that, were anyone to hear of it, would assuredly cost me my son. Is that what you're saying?"

Mal nods solemnly. "I am. He already knows you're doing something," she waves her hand, "illegal. But he knows you're not like me. There's a reason you're doing what you're doing beyond easy money, you can tell there's a purpose. You're forgetting that I saw the man, he's got unanswered, unspoken questions swirling in his mind, on the tip of his tongue. He knows enough to be curious and to go snooping for more. Better just tell him the whole thing. It's actually safer that way."

Regina cocks her head, stuck on one part of Mal's speech in particular. Because, frankly, she cannot argue with the rest of it. The logic is sound enough. "I'm not like you?" She asks, almost sounding hurt. "Mal, I think we agreed long ago that I always have been just like you."

Mal rolls her eyes. "We may both be wearing the same scarlet letter under our couture, dear, but I was born to wear it, and it suits me just fine. On you, though, it's never quite fit. It always just looks... off. And don't try to argue with me. You know it's true. You knew it was true from the moment we met."

Regina takes a moment to try see that day through Mal's eyes. But it's all too incredibly humiliating to relive, and she pushes the images out of her mind.

 

_.:*:._

 

_She knocks at the door, her hair an absolute mess - still tangled and dirty from last night's restless sleep - she's wearing sweatpants and a faded, stretched out tee shirt, phone in hand as she continues to check the screen and track her dear, cheating, abusive, horrible husband. It's row house she's knocking at, and it occurs to her there may be multiple apartments within it, but her mind is made up - she's not leaving til she finds him — until she catches him._

_A woman with far too much makeup for daytime, and a sexy negligee covered by a thin silk robe answers the door. Her hair is just a bit disheveled — but it was clearly fixed and curled and styled earlier - before whatever activity ruffled it out of place, and she knows, knows from the swollen lips and remnants of lipstick on them, what those activities were. She doesn't know the woman's name, or her occupation, doesn't know anything besides the fact that she is in an apartment that apparently houses her husband's phone._

"I _'m looking for Leopold Blanchard." Regina's voice is a bit shaky, but she's determined, has tried to spin all her fear, all her worry, into golden strands of anger. Anger is good. Anger isn't a weak emotion. Strong people are angry._

"S _orry," the woman flippantly replies, "No one's here but me."_

_But there is something in her tone, and Regina just knows that he was here, before checking any other apartment. She hits the call button and calls her husband's phone._

_When she hears that ring echo in the apartment behind her, Regina stares at the woman triumphantly, holding her ringing phone like a trophy._

_The blonde woman raises an eyebrow, shoots her a dazzling smile, and she looks almost impressed. She shifts her tone into an apologetic one. "He must have left his phone, dear. He'll be back for it, I'm sure, if you want to come in and wait for him. Though I doubt that is a very good idea," she opens the door, motions for her to step in._

" _Do you know who I am?" Regina asks almost incredulously._

" _I would assume you are Leo's wife. Though honestly, I pictured a timid little housewife with no backbone. But it seems he hasn't broken you yet."_

" _You knew he was married?" she asks, looking angry, "Did you... did you sleep with him?"_

_Mal looks her up and down for a minute, clearly amused, as she saunters towards her playfully, her eyes glazed and unfocused._

At the time Regina had thought she was just playing with her, was bored and not really listening to her...but now, now that she knew what Mal looked like after using, she knew that she was fighting a battle to remain focused and conscious at the time.

_Mal sits right down on the threadbare couch, a couch that had once been expensive and nice, but now has become worn from overuse, and she motions for Regina to sit, patting the seat next to her._

_Regina shakes her head angrily. Is she insane? Absolutely, under no circumstances, is she sitting and having a chat with the person who, most likely, has just slept with her husband._

" _You're going to want to sit down for this, my dear." the woman warns, "Come now, little one, I'm going to tell you what you want to know. Keeping in mind, of course, that I'm risking quite a bit to be honest right now."_

_Regina still refuses to sit, but walks towards the couch, standing over her, doing her best to remain strong, and angry._

" _You slept with him," Regina repeats. She needs her to confirm this. Needs it._

_Mal just shoots her that blank expression and shrugs. "We haven't been introduced." She extends a hand to Regina. "I'm Mallory. Mal, to my friends."_

To this day, that still surprises Regina. They had just met, but then again Mal had always relied on her instincts. And then, Mal must have decided that this feisty, angry little girl was worth helping, worth saving worth trusting. Because she gave Regina her _real name_.

" _R-Regina" she stutters, still in shock, too angry, and desperate, and confused, to voice everything she had planned to say at this moment._

" _Regina, we don't know each other very well, but I do know your husband well enough. And it appears you do, too, because you clearly don't trust the man, and who could blame you? But it's not safe to do this. I know your husband, as I said. And the thing to do is to run, little one, run away. I think we both know confronting him is a very unwise decision indeed."_

_Regina snarls, "I can't run. I need... I need to prove adultery or something serious to get out of this, and now I can, I just need to subpoena you for the proceedings, and—"_

_Mal just laughs, "Oh sweetheart, I will never testify in those proceedings. I'd sooner go to jail for years than do any of that. The risk to my livelihood and reputation would be far less."_

" _What do you mean? Has Leo threatened you to stay silent about your relationship?"_

_Mal smiles and rolls her eyes, "No, my dear, not specifically. But there's a very clear non-disclosure agreement — spoken or unspoken — with all my clients."_

" _Clients? What... what could he possibly have hired you for that required him to be…?"_

_She is naive and stupid and it takes her far too long, but suddenly the word "client" fits in with the worn silk of the couch, the expensive lingerie Mal is wearing, the trick, lush curtains blocking out any sight of sun with the dimmed lighting of antique lamps, expensive looking vases and fake marble decor trimmed in gold. It looks cheap-but-expensive, it's 1980s glamour, reminds her of an old Atlantic City hotel suite, and what her husband has just done hits her like a ton of bricks._

" _Ohhhh," she says, sinking to the couch, and then, no, what was done on that couch? She jumps up immediately, "Oh god… you're a...? You, he hired you?"_

" _Yes," Mal admits, "I probably won't see him again for a while, and to be quite honest, that's a good thing. He's a horrible man, and I can't imagine you don't know that."_

_Regina is still in shock, looking horrified, unable to respond, so Mal fills the silence. "I can understand wanting to get out of a marriage with that man. But of course, you know that if you try to bring this conversation to light in court, I'll deny everything I said. And if you think a shotty - or hell, even strong case of adultery is going to get you half of his well-inherited, well-hidden money, I think you've underestimated the power of the Blanchards."_

_Regina sighs, sitting down on the couch, thinking it had to be better than passing out on the floor. "I don't care about the money. I just... I want my child. Full custody. I don't want him involved."_

" _Oh, dear, I didn't know there was a child." Mal shakes her head, putting a hand on her shoulder. Regina flinches, looks back at her with disgust. She isn't ready to accept a touch of kindness, an offer of comfort, not from the woman who just admitted she knew her husband was a bastard but so willingly went to bed with him._

_Mal smiles and removes the offending hand immediately before saying, "I'm sure there's no limit to what you would do to protect your child from that monster. But, now, you and I both know it will take more than proving adultery for you to get custody of that child from the Blanchards, don't we? He's going to get the best attorneys in town, and probably pay off the judges. You can't protect him this way."_

_Regina collapses onto herself then, elbows on her knees, hands in her face, begging herself to calm down - not here, not now, not in front of the prostitute. But even as she wills herself not to, her body shakes, evidence of her breakdown, even if she is able to stifle the noise of her sobs._

_Minutes pass, and she's fighting a losing battle to keep her composure._

" _You are stronger than you know," Mal whispers to her softly, and those words should be meaningless coming from a stranger, but they aren't. She needs to hear those words. "Many women wouldn't come down here. They'd be afraid of him, of what he would do…"_

_This time, when Mal's hand goes onto her shoulder, Regina moves into the touch, allows herself to be comforted by someone other than her son for the first time since Daniel's funeral. Not that she blames her friends. She made an awful decision and they were right to abandon her._

_Mal's fingers thread through her hair, and it's very maternal. When she sweeps that hair away from the nape of Regina's neck, she finds one of the fresh bruises on her skin. Regina knows Mal notices it, from the way her fingers ghost over it lightly, carefully._

_Nothing needed to be said, and yet…_

" _Asshole," Mal murmurs, fingers still on the bruise. "And the child? Does he mark your child, too?"_

" _I make sure he doesn't touch my son," Regina says softly, "I have my ways."_

" _At no small cost to your own health and safety, no doubt," Mal frowns._

_And yes, that's true. She's protected her son, at the cost of herself. But at least she could supervise them together if she stays in the marriage. If not? What if her little boy makes a careless mistake, is too loud, or just in a foul mood? What will he do to her little boy then, if she's not there to save him?_

" _Your husband's going to come back soon," Mal reminds her. "He is going to come looking for his phone. I really think it is best you not be here. I don't want him to hurt you, and I expect that is exactly what will happen if he sees you here. And I can't protect you. I can't be a witness for you in case there's abuse, I can't fight him. So you need to leave."_

" _I thought that maybe if there was a threat of an adultery scandal he'd just give me my child." Regina slumps down, defeated, whispering the words into her lap. "You see, I'm trapped," Regina said softly, "I'm... we are the same, you know I'm no better than his hired whore. I know it. I just want to get out and I can't. Not unless I want to risk him alone with my son, and that's... it's not an option."_

_She looks up at Mal then, looking for something, some retort, some glimmer of miracle escape for what she thinks is a hopeless situation. And must be hopeless when she's looking for a perfect stranger to inspire her._

_Mal goes contemplative, her forehead creases, mouth purses and screws sideways, as if she's trying to work out some advanced equation in her head. Regina lets the silence of the moment wash over her. The woman stares at her, letting her gaze darts from her eyes to her hips, and legs, back to her arms, as if she's trying to find some hidden clues in the way Regina carries herself, some solution or secret truth in her posture. Regina crosses her arms in front of her chest, suddenly feeling very on display. But her eyes meet and lock with Mal's, and she watches as Mal's face softens, as something shifts in her mood._

" _There are ways to get out of even the most desperate situation," Mal finally says, her voice calm and soothing. "Now, you're going to leave this apartment. This isn't where I live, it's only where I work. Others work here as well. So don't come back here looking for me, alright? But I am giving you my number. And if there's a way to set you free, I'm going to help you to get there. I know I don't seem to have much, but I know plenty of powerful men who may be able to help."_

_Regina looks up, face stained with tears, brow furrowed. "Why?" she asks, truly shocked, "Why help me?"_

" _Because, my dear, when you said you and I were the same, you were quite right. You are one of us. And we help our own here."_

 

.:*:.

 

Mal shares a smile with her, and she knows she's getting nostalgic now - thinking about the tough, terrible circumstances of their beautiful friendship.

They move on to lighter topics then, drift into the safety of movies, and Henry, and hushed jokes about some of their more unique clients. And then lunch is over, with promises to keep in touch and well wishes sent to each woman.

Because, hell, they are both in for a rough couple of days.

 

.::.

 

If she's being honest with herself, she's nervous.

It started with a wave of anxiety, the feeling of this morning's coffee dropping to the pit of her stomach. Something akin to that feeling you get riding down that first, giant hill on a roller coaster. It's not at all like the feeling she has when she thinks about the upcoming custody hearing. When she thinks of that day steadily approaching, her intestines knot up, her stomach clenches within itself, and if she dwells for too long, she feels the sting of acid rising up in her throat. That day makes her want to curl up into a ball and hide away.

But today is nothing like that day. Today she is merely observing a meeting at Mushu. And really, there's nothing serious that she must do to win the company over today. It's just a meeting where she will give a few tips.

So really, this fluttery feeling, this nervous tingle that spreads from her belly up her spine and spins around her head... it's really... misplaced energy. There's no reason for it.

And yet…

The meeting is not until 10 AM, but she's agreed to meet with Robin and Mulan an hour beforehand to get a background on the reasons for the meetings, and hopefully to chat about what they should expect in upcoming months.

Purely professional.

But it is 9:15, she's still waiting in the lobby, beginning to wonder if she's been stood up. The receptionist, Ana, does a terrible job of reassuring her that Mr. Locksley and Ms. Cheng will be right out. She seems a bit too... frantic to be trusted.

She's just about to call Robin herself when she looks up from her phone to find the man rushing out to meet her. He's wearing a crisp blue suit, with a white shirt and a colorful tie, smelling of sandalwood, pine, and soap. She takes a second to breathe him in, not even bothering to look apologetic when he notices the way her eyes rake him over.

He's been inside her. She's allowed to gawk if she wants.

"Regina, sorry to keep you waiting," he says, extending a hand for her. She takes it with a tight smile, and shakes. Then she holds that hand as she rises from her seat. He looks... off. His eyes are darting back and forth, and she could swear his hair looks as if he had just showered minutes ago, the smell of his shampoo stronger than usual. He looks far too worn out for just-after-9 AM, and she wonders what disaster might have just befallen the company so early in the morning.

"You alright?" She asks, a tight smile forming, "You look…" she searches for a delicate way to describe his haphazard state.

"Frazzled?" Robin asks, and then motions her to follow him to what she assumes will be a conference room.

"I was going to say distracted," Regina answers. "Is this a bad time for me to be here? Something happen with Mulan?"

He ushers her to a small room that houses a circular table and 6 chairs, and nothing else. He closes the door and sighs. "No, no, this is not company related. Roland had a little fall this morning, is all."

And then it makes sense, fits together, he's got that distracted look, trying not to worry, but it's his baby boy. Of course he's worried.

"Oh, poor thing. Is he okay? What happened?"

Robin frowns and then shrugs. "He was a bit exuberant this morning and took a tumble down the stairs." For a second his eyes seem caught in a haze, and shit, he must be reliving it. "It could have been so much worse. It looked... he just fell down stair after stair… and I didn't know— you know? I thought the worst. But in the end, no head injuries, no lost teeth... just some bumps and bruises, two stitches in the chin."

It tugs a bit at her heart, how miserable he looks just now. She remembers those frightening moments when Henry was younger. They were plagued with other fears, other Leopold related fears, but even on their own, every fall, every bike crash, every baseball that whacked Henry a bit too hard, would leave her in a cold sweat, a state of panic where she swore her heart froze in place, her lungs collapsed, and every part of her body was just in suspended animation until she heard her son's cries, or occasionally a helpful yelp of I'm okay!, words Henry knew Regina needed to hear.

"But he's okay now, right? No worse for the wear?" It's more of a statement than a question. Of course Roland is fine. Robin would not be here if it was anything serious.

"He handled it quite well. The stitches were a bit frightening, but then I told him that he could spend the day watching movies with Ms. Ashley and he could eat ice cream for breakfast, and well... that seemed to do the trick."

Regina laughs, "You were probably more shaken up than he was," she offers, "I know how it is."

"Yeah, I'm still… I just dropped him off at home after a 7 AM trip to the emergency room. That's why I'm late today, and I'm a bit... err…" he frowns and grimaces, and then adds on shaky breath, "there was just a lot of blood."

"Come here." Regina says, before she can think better of it, arms stretched out. He wraps himself up in her, burying his head into hers, letting out a little huff of half laughter.

"You're a good father. Roland is a strong little thing. And very brave. I'll never forget the way he held my hand down the big scary slide."

Robin lets out a puff of air, and it almost sounds like a laugh. Almost.

"He's just fine."

She rubs his back, like she would Henry when he's upset and needs the comfort.

And that's all she's offering. Comfort to another fellow single parent. But why does it feel like so much more than that?

"I think it scared me half to death," he admits into her hair. She feels the tension melt from his body then. It's amazing what just opening up, just confessing your fears, can do to heal you.

It makes her the slightest bit jealous, but only for a second.

Of course her fears must remain hidden away. They aren't so simple. They aren't so innocent. She can't confess them, can't even say them out loud — not that it would particularly help. Admitting that she is scared shitless of an abusive, powerful, sadist would do nothing but clue Robin in to how hopeless her situation is, and how much of her life is spent pretending (to the world, and to herself) that she's not scared.

Still, for reasons she can't place, she itches to tell him, and can almost feel the sense of relief that would wash over her in sharing the burden of all her secrets, irrational as that relief would be.

She snaps out of it, rubs her arms down his (toned, muscular, heavenly) biceps, and withdraws from the hug long before she wants to. "Better?" She asks with a thin smile.

"Oddly…." he smiles, and then shakes his head, "I feel world's better." He is staring at her, and then scratches the back of his head nervously. "I've always told Roland hugs and kisses make everything better, I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

"Mm, I give good hugs," Regina drawls, "and as for kisses…" she looks him up and down, biting her lip.

And then she snaps out of it. Because this is flirting. And not the subtle type of flirting, either. This is entirely inappropriate, no matter how much seeing him be a good, devoted father is sending her libido into overdrive. No matter how good he smells and looks right now.

This is a professional meeting.

And she shouldn't even like him. He hired her. They could never work, even if there weren't an abundance of other stuff hanging over her head like an anvil, ready to crush any impending relationship at any given moment.

She places a hand on his chest and takes a step back from him ducking down and muttering, "Well, you know…"

"Mmm, I do…" Robin rasps. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, looking quite affected.

Well, that's not too terribly helpful.

"Right… so... tell me about this meeting," she says, smoothing her skirt and taking a seat at the table.

Because she is a professional.

 

.::.

 

Mulan doesn't show til five minutes before the meeting, only having time to briefly shake hands with Regina before heading into the large conference room, where most of the company is waiting.

She's wearing gray, tight slacks, an electric blue silk blouse, and a black three quarter sleeved unbuttoned blazer over it. Her hair is down, two locks on either side of her face are pulled back and tied behind her, the rest of it flowing free. She doesn't quite look the part of a CEO. If Regina were being entirely honest, she would say Mulan looks more like a summer intern than an executive at all. She's a staunch contrast to Robin. Even given his morning in the ER, he's still standing next to her in a well-tailored, classic suit.

Unfortunately, appearance is everything when it comes to public perception. That will have to change.

Mulan enters the meeting with a wave of her hand and a _Morning, all!_ Her employees greet her, enthused.

"You all met Regina at the picnic. She's here to help with our public image, blah blah, blah, boring stuff. She may be jumping in. Everyone say hi to Regina!"

And with that very… odd announcement she walks away, over to a very... impressive (very expensive) breakfast spread, and helping herself.

My god, the tiny woman can eat.

The meeting is supposed to be about the new goals and directives as they head into the next quarter of the year. But it's more of a comedy hour, where Mulan roasts different department heads, and they give it back to her.

"Alright guys settle, time to get to business." Mulan shouts, after roughly forty minutes of borderline-inappropriate jokes and small talk about baseball games. Regina huffs out a sigh of relief and bites back her urge to groan finally.

"So this quarter was a great one for us. Our sales team killed it, thanks in part to all the hard work from that marketing outreach, and we were able to release more efficient models in March thanks to the tech teams. And the rest of you made everything run like a well-oiled machine. Leroy even caught all the viruses that Kristoff keeps trying to download."

A sheepish looking man on the side of the table grimaces, and then adds defensively, "The Nigerian Prime Minister needed help! He emailed me!"

"Anyway," Mulan presses on past the laughter, "we outdid ourselves, profits actually surpassed our goals, so now we've got to discuss how we're treating ourselves."

So much for work. Regina resists the urge to roll her eyes.

They throw back ideas of open bar happy hours, an extra vacation day for everyone, free lunch for everyone for a week…

When they've whittled the rewards down to three things, Regina loses it. She writes big on her memo pad _She needs to talk about next quarter goals and NEED TO DISCUSS MERGER_. She hands her notebook to Robin who smiles, shakes his head, and writes on the pad of paper next to her.

_Not her process. Don't disrupt her genius._

Regina writes back, _We are currently arguing over what bar serves better fries, this is not genius, this is madness_.

And Robin smirks, grabs his pen, and writes, _I know, right? Three Bears is obviously the best._

She tries not to show signs of being amused (this is business) but she still has to stifle a giggle.

"Robin, something to share with the class?" Mulan calls out, "or are you content to just trade notes like a middle school girl?"

The joke earns a splatter of laughter amongst the room. And the middle school reference seems particularly applicable to Regina, especially now that her ears burn with embarrassment, of being caught passing a note.

"What are the goals for the next quarter?" Regina asks, recovering quickly. Mulan raises an eyebrow, smirking.

"Alright, hold your horses, missy. I'm getting to it."

And she does. The goals are introduced amongst a spattering of wildly inappropriate jokes, but they are there. When it ends, two-and-a-half hours later, she finds that they have gone over everything they need to.

It was just more of a dinner with friends than a meeting. It's a logistical nightmare, takes far too long to get to the point, and the jokes traded would have any HR representative going into hyper drive with worries of all sorts of harassment suits, but in the environment Mulan has cultivated, everyone seems respected, confident and happy.

As the last of the crowd filters out, Mulan turns to Regina and raises an eyebrow. "So? How'd I do?"

"Perfect," Regina says, "everything was addressed, on point...but…"

"I didn't do it in stuffy boring corporate style," Mulan says, rolling her eyes. She stalks towards the breakfast area and picks up a jelly donut. She takes a big bite, and the jelly drips down onto her thumb. She sucks it off happily. "I don't do that. But things get done, right?"

Regina shrugs. "These kinds of things are a hard sell. The corporate environment s—"

"I know it's a hard sell. But I want to convince them to keep my family, my company, the way it is now. And I think if I sell you on it, you can help me sell them on it."

"Mulan," Regina takes a deep breath in, "that's not why I was hired."

"I know," Mulan waives off. "But I'm a scientist. I believe in embracing the possibility of a happy accident." She shoves the rest of the donut in her mouth, powdered sugar flying.

"Now now, Mulan, let's _embrace the possibility_ that Regina might have some good ideas."

Mulan rolls her eyes dramatically at Robin, who looks quite proud of himself. She swallows the last of the jelly donut. Powdered sugar sprinkles over her dark colored clothes. She frowns, licks her fingers and then attempts to rub some of the sugar out of the clothes. Little specks of white are still visible over her outfit and she notices it, but shrugs it off.

"I promise I'll give you a chance if you keep giving me the same. And look, I'd love to chat, but I really need to be going. But I'm going to see you at Roland's birthday, right, Regina?"

Now, why the hell would she be invited to that?

Robin's eyes close shut tight, wincing in embarrassment, muttering a _Mulan_ and the start of an apology to her, but it's really not necessary. She isn't feeling left out for not being invited to a child's birthday party, for god's sake.

"Oh, I don't think I'll be able to make it," she starts, but Mulan ignores her.

"You should come, if nothing else you can make sure I don't get bored and start angry tweeting halfway through the party."

Regina bites her lip, but is unable to resist. "Yeah, about that…"

"Yeah, yeah, I'll try to stop doing that," Mulan waves off. "But maybe I need the supervision? You should go to the party," she says, glaring at Robin more than Regina. "Alright, I really gotta jet — ping pong match with the guys at HEA."

In two minutes Mulan has invited her to a child's birthday party, threatened to angry tweet her way through a Saturday, shotgunned a jelly donut, and made it clear she has no intention of changing the way her company runs… despite it being Regina's very job to have her do just that.

Regina is good on her feet, but the sheer combination of all these things in rapid succession leaves her speechless.

Robin breaks the silence with a chuckle.

"So, that happened. Lunch?" he asks.

Regina raises an eyebrow, looking at the now-cold breakfast buffet. True, she only had a small amount of fruit and she hasn't eaten much in the last two hours, but Robin had a full breakfast. It's unlikely he's hungry yet.

"A midday drink?" He asks, "I know how you like to get me all liquored up so I'll talk freely."

She laughs. "I don't think I need the alcohol to get you to talk freely anymore," she counters, eyeing him up and down. Her stare is lingering in places it shouldn't, and she has to reel herself in, has to ignore the way he looks at her in return.

Professional, Regina, she reminds herself, shaking her head. She clears her throat nervously before asking "What about coffee?"

 

.::.

 

She actually focuses their meeting on business. She's sipping on a chai latte with skim milk and the frothy liquid catches onto her lips and melts into them. She smells of cinnamon and spice, and probably tastes the same, and he wishes he could find that out for sure.

She's brilliant, and funny, and caring, and nurturing, and she just... understands him. She could sense his mood this morning, and knew exactly what to say and do to erode all the anxious fears that surrounded his thoughts.

There are plenty of people who care for Robin, many who would be there to offer a hand or a hug or a soothing It's all going to be alright, and that's really all she has done. So why does he feel like she's filling a void in his life?

Maybe it's that she seems to understand him in a way he doesn't quite feel others do. Maybe it's those eyes, so warm and inviting, that have hypnotized and settled something deep inside him.

Whatever it is, he just wants to be around her more.

"At some point I'm honestly going to have to talk to Mulan about business," Regina gripes. "But it seems she doesn't even share her schedule with you, so I'm not sure when I'll have the opportunity—"

"Come to Roland's birthday," Robin blurts out. "She won't be rushing out then. And there will be opportunity to talk in a setting that doesn't stifle Mulan's whole... vibe."

She seems to consider his offer for a bit before shaking her head. "You don't have to invite me to your son's birthday party just because Mulan thought I was invited."

Robin shakes his head vigorously. "No, that's not it, I want you there. I was going to ask you today anyway when the time was right. I thought it might be fun."

Regina raises her eyebrow, her tone shifting. "Are you asking me out to your child's birthday?"

And there's the Regina he knows and loves. Or, not loves. Likes. Likes a lot.

He smirks, all too willing to play along. "Oh, tell me you aren't tempted by unlimited pieces of pizza, birthday cake, and a pool party."

"A pool party, huh? I suppose I should bring my bathing suit to this little affair, as well?"

He hadn't thought of that. And for a moment he's caught thinking of her body wearing nothing but a black bikini, dripping wet limbs wrapped around him in the warm sunlight.

He snaps himself out of it. This is a children's birthday party.

"Sure. Well, you and your son of course."

She seems to consider his offer for a bit before she shakes her head. "Robin, this is sweet but it's Roland's day —"

"And Roland adores you." He assures. "And he's already asked I invite his third grade friend Henry to the party. I know a five year old's birthday may not be too appealing to an eight year old, but..."

This beautiful smile takes over her face, and for a second he's completely thrown off guard and is rendered speechless.

"He really likes Henry?"

"Oh, yes. Roland's the smallest in his class, and sometimes kids can be brutal about that. So when a big kid like Henry makes friends with him, it makes a difference. And he's a special kid, Henry. Has a way of making everyone around him happy."

She shines at that compliment. He makes a mental note to keep reminding her that her son is kind and sweet and outgoing and confident and well-adjusted, despite what the man who calls himself Henry's father has done (it's something terrible, he knows that much from what little he's seen).

"I'll ask Henry. As a favor to Roland. And only Roland."

Robin winks, "Of course, I'd never think anything else. It's the Saturday after next. I'll email you the rest of the details. Does Henry have plans? I know he's a busy child."

Her face falls a little, and he watches her body tighten and tense just a bit. "I think… I mean, that should be fine… but I'm not certain"

"What's wrong?" Robin asks, "Did I say something wrong?"

"No," Regina assures, and then she lets out a puff of air, scoots back on her chair, and takes a sip of her latte. "Nothing like that… It's personal."

"As opposed to the very professional conversation we were having about my son's birthday," Robin reminds, and when he gets a little smile out of her, he continues. "You helped me this morning, when I was all… stuck thinking about Roland. Speaking of which, look what I got during that meeting." He pulls out his phone and scrolls a bit, then flashes the screen at Regina.

Roland's wide, toothy grin is on full display, his bandaged chin barely noticeable. There's another little bruise on his forehead, but he's relatively unscathed, all things considered. He's propped on the couch, pillow and blankets around him as if he were sick (he's not) and there's a bowl on the coffee table that looks like it might have had cereal in it.

She laughs. "He looks happy. And spoiled."

"You were right. He's just fine." Robin says, feeling her out. "And thank you for that, this morning. I needed to hear it."

"Of course." She slouches back on her seat, but doesn't break eye contact. She just keeps giving him that flirtatious stare, lips curving up slightly and she studies him. He stares back intently.

"You sure you don't want to talk about it?"

 

.::.

 

She does. She really wants to talk about it.

She's still so guarded around him, though, still trying to protect him from knowing every well-kept secret of her life.

But then she hears Mal's words, urging her to go all in and stop doing this in-between shit.

Her demeanor shifts, a scowl replacing what once was a smirk. Before Robin can mutter some unnecessary apology she explains "I'm not sure whether Henry can go to Roland's party on Saturday."

"Oh." Robin says. But he's not an idiot. He knows that's not all of it, but he's holding back, keeping himself from prying, probably.

Fine. She'll explain unprompted.

"I'm not sure what the custody arrangement will be for Henry by then." She coughs and stares intently at him. "There's a hearing next week. Leo has petitioned for partial custody and an end to the supervised visitation. And I just know, I just know if he's able to get the judge on his side, he's going to take weekends away from me, it's just like him... and…"

She realizes she's been fidgeting through this conversation. It is shameful how weak and naive she must look, so pathetic she's fidgeting ever so slightly now, her eyes are darting between her coffee, her hands, and the walls. "Anyway, I've had this weighing on me for a while. And that's what's wrong."

He has that earnest, heartfelt sympathetic look that pains her, his eyebrows rise, head tilted in concern. "Regina, I had no idea. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have pressed you—"

"It's alright," she assures, "It does feel a bit better to…" she gestures into the air, "get it out into the open."

He reaches for her hands, and hell, she gives them to him, lets him squeeze and hold them tight. It feels nice.

It feels really nice.

"I can't imagine a judge in their right mind would ever give that man access to a child. And you're a wonderful mum. I... I don't know how things work but I have to believe there's enough goodness in the world to prevent the worst from happening." He releases his hold on her hands and draws his fingers up and down her palms. The move is soothing, comforting. "And if I'm wrong, I could always run him over with my car."

She laughs at that. She shouldn't, this is not something you joke about. Leo is dangerous. But the thought of Robin stalking him down a dark alley with his car and hitting the gas hard is just…. such a wonderful little image to hold sacred in her mind. But then…

"He probably would survive any car crash," she bemoans. "Sometimes I think he's indestructible."

His hands are sort of playing with hers now, fingers dancing over her palms, hands smoothing up and down her forearms. It's intimate, far too intimate. But it just feels right. Her eyes fall shut and she lets herself just enjoy the way he's touching her. She can indulge a bit today. It's been a long couple of weeks.

"Do you have anything important to do for the rest of the day?" he asks, hands still coasting over her arms.

She opens her eyes again and shakes her head, confused by the sudden shift in conversation. "No, I had reserved the day in case that meeting ran all day or Mulan wanted to talk. Why?"

"So your boss won't be looking for you, and _my_ boss is apparently in a very important ping pong tournament," Regina snorts at that. "So what do you say to us playing hooky?"

She frowns, trying to think of all the reasons that is a _bad_ idea.

Then he urges, "You can't do anything to control what happens next week, yeah? All you can do is worry. Let me distract you from worrying a bit."

And she can't think of a reason to turn down that offer, especially when he looks at her like that.

"What did you have in mind?" She asks.

 

.::.

 

He takes her downtown, right by the stadium. There's a game this afternoon, and usually a weekday afternoon game wouldn't be the cause of a celebration, but it's the birthday of a Hall-of-Famer, and they are celebrating with a sort of street festival on the blocks around the stadium.

Street vendors set up little booths, there's even some carnival-type games set up outside the stadium grounds and a beer tent nearby.

"Must be a pity, being around all of these games you can't play," she teases as they walk pass the speed pitch game.

"Excuse me?" Robin asks

"You're British, "she reminds teasingly. "Not one for baseball. I'm sure if there were a soccer game…"

"Oh, let me at _all_ the games, I'll show you whose _not one for baseball."_

He makes his way to the "pitch a strike" booth and orders a game. He's handed three baseballs, and directed to throw them into the small hole in a cardboard catcher's mitt at the opposite end. He looks at Regina in mock worry.

"Well looks like England's entire reputation is on the line. God save the Queen, and all that."

He throws a skillful, fast pitch. One look and she's sure it will go in the strike zone. He's much better at this than she had anticipated.

But he's overshot it a bit, and the ball hits the edge of the opening in the cardboard cutout and bounces out and onto the ground.

"Damn it," he groans bitterly.

"I guess the Queen could not be saved," Regina sasses, raising her eyebrows. "But it was a valiant effort, anyway."

"Now now, I still have two balls, Regina." He spends a little more time focusing with this next pitch, staring and biting his lip in concentration. He misses the way Regina sidles up behind him.

"That's what he said." She teases quickly into his ear as Robin is about to throw. It's not the sort of thing she'd normally say out loud, especially when she's with either of her _customers_ (silly one liners and corny sex jokes aren't part of her "brand"), but something about this day, maybe this morning's meeting, or maybe this man, has her acting a bit more... relaxed.

The joke clearly throws Robin off, causing him to laugh the second he releases the next ball. He snickers a _Shit!_ as he does, and sure enough, the ball lands even further outside of its target this time.

"No fair!" Robin clamors, "that's cheating."

"What?" Regina asks innocently. "Isn't part of baseball trash talking?"

He shakes his head, smile still on his face. It could just be the heat of the day, but his face looks flushed. God, he's adorable. "I can't concentrate when you say things like that. Now hush, I only have one more chance to save myself from embarrassment."

He concentrates again, and she can't resist coming behind him and whispering gently in his ear, "Go on, put it straight in the hole." He turns to her and scowls, then bites his lip and throws.

This time it's a perfect pitch, landing in the hole in the catcher's mitt with ease.

"We have a winner!" The game operator cries. "You can have any of those prizes on the bottoms shelf."

"Hmmm…." There are stuffed animals of various styles generic looking minions, a mini stuffed spider-man plush, an odd South Park looking animal, a banana that is inexplicably dressed like a Rastafarian, and a few dinosaur stuffed animals that look sweet.

"What would Roland like?" Regina asks, looking at the prizes with some suspicion.

"What do you think?" he asks.

"Definitely the monkey. None of those absurd colors, though. They gray one. Right there." She points to it.

"That's a middle shelf item," the operator tells them, "Need three shots in to make it."

Of course, she knew that when she picked it. "Well I guess I'll have to help you out," she snarks to Robin before throwing money on the table. "I'll play a round."

She supposes she's quite the sight in a light gray pencil skirt, nude pumps and a white button down top, steadying herself to throw.

The heels throw off her center of gravity, and she ends up dropping the ball too low. It lands well under the strike zone.

"Shit," she says, but Robin is just muttering an _Impressive_ and she waves him off. "I can do better."

The pumps have to go. She reaches for her purse and grabs out a pair of foldable flats she keeps in there just in case... Of course this wasn't _exactly_ the emergency she had them packed away for (a broken heel, a flat tire on the side of the road, but a surprise must-show-off-to-the-hot-British-man opportunity cannot be discounted).

She leans a hand on his shoulder to steady herself as she uses her free hand to take off her pump. His shoulder is steady, rock solid and muscular. She catches a whiff of his deodorant, mixing with the starch he uses on his shirt, and the clean scent of soap never smelled more erotic. She deliberately avoids his gaze, convinced that if she doesn't, she will be completely unable to avoid turning this moment into some sappy scene from a romantic comedy.

But the sudden physical contact makes him nervous, too, it seems, judging from his sharp intake of breath he takes. "Changing shoes. This is serious," he mutters in a teasing tone, but his voice sounds a bit unsteady, lacks the confidence of his earlier taunts.

But if he's going to tease her she can tease back, and she can use his attraction against him.

"Yes," She responds, leaning in as she takes off her other heel. And she whispers in his ear as provocatively as she can, " _very_ serious _."_

"Mmm, enough delaying, pitch a strike, Ms. Mills." His voice is raspy and hot and she doubts he really wants her to leave his arms.

But they can't stay there all day, so she grabs a baseball, focuses on her target and throws.

It lands square in the opening in the catcher's mitt. She turns to Robin with a raised eyebrow.

"We're all tied up," he sinks, "now you just have to avoid choking on the last throw and you've beaten me."

"How embarrassing this will be for you," she shrugs as she shifts to focus on the game. She feels him behind her, hands sliding up her arms he whispers _Don't miss_ in her ear.

"I won't," she assures.

He chuckles and gives her room, and right before she releases the ball, Robin tries one last time. He points to the cardboard cartoon of the catcher around the target and says, "That catcher looks exactly like Freddy Mercury."

She laughs, and the ball hits the edge of the hole but does not make it inside.

"No fair!" Regina cries, and when Robin holds his hands up in the air in mock innocence she adds, "You just cost your poor son a stuffed animal."

"Eh, take it," the operator says, grabbing the plush monkey from the middle row. "You two are cute together. Plus you fight dirty. I respect that."

Robin raises his eyebrows and looks at Regina with some sort of admiration for both games that she played.

And as she's handed her prize, burying it deep in the tote she's carrying, she can't help but think that life isn't so bad sometimes.

 

.::.

 

They make their way out of the crowds around the baseball grounds and wind their way through the downtown streets. He'd bought her a pretzel, had seen her eyeing the street vendor and couldn't resist buying two, one for each of them. She had rolled her eyes at the gesture, said she wouldn't eat it. She keeps picking at the one he holds in his hand, however, and while he'll never say anything, each little bite is satisfying.

He hopes she's feeling better. Can't imagine what she's going through. If Roland was faced with spending even a moment of time with a psychopath like Leopold he'd be going stir crazy. She keeps it together, though. She's stronger than him and if he had to wager, she's stronger than nearly anyone he's met. Still, he felt the tension of the bottled up emotions in that coffee shop and couldn't resist the urge to help in some way — even though he knows she'd only let him help in the smallest of ways. So fine, if all he can give her is a day of distractions, a vacation from worrying, he'll do that.

Every time he's with her he seems to learn something a bit new. Now he's learned that she's practiced baseball with her son since he was three years old, and that she actually learned to throw and catch from his old little league coach, so she could practice with Henry at home.

"All the other kids got to go home and practice with their fathers," she explains nonchalantly.

"Regina, I've said this before. Henry doesn't lack for a father. You've handled both roles quite nicely."

She frowns, and then he sees her going down that rabbit hole, worry lines replacing frown lines, and no, this is a day of distraction, and this just won't do.

He searches for an answer and finds it on a chalkboard sign down the street and outside a narrow, open door.

"'Anyone can dance'," he reads, raising eyebrows at her. "You suppose we put that statement to the test?"

There's a schedule of walk-in sessions of dance classes listed below. He can't see them from where they are standing but he's got to hope there's a class starting soon.

"I already _can_ dance," she replies, a little sly smile back on her face, and good, he chased away the worry for a while anyway. "And I am not dressed for dance. So if it's tap, or ballet, or…" he's not listening to her excuses, he's got her hand in his and he's leading her towards the studio.

"'The tango'," Robin reads. And then he cringes. He isn't sure what he was expecting — some stuffy sort of ballroom dance, or maybe something like jazz or hip hop, but the tango... that's... a bit dangerous. She is wearing a tight skirt. Sure, it's professional, but she's got an amazing body, and it's fit like second skin on her. Her collared shirt has a deep vee, the first button straining between the swells of her breasts that are visible each time she leans. He doesn't know much about the tango outside of the way it's portrayed in the media, but he's not sure such a tantalizing dance is something they should be engaging in this afternoon. So he adds, "You know what? Never mind. I can find us something more fun to do."

They definitely should not be dancing together at all, when he wants her the way he does. Not when they've been having such a nice day, and he's already thinking of things he'd like to do to her should they ever get somewhere alone (they aren't ever getting anywhere alone, but in his mind he's already finding some abandoned side street and pulling her down it so he can push her against the side of a building and kiss the absolute life out of her).

Regina, on the other hand, seems intrigued the moment he expresses some reluctance. "Hmm…" she says raising her eyebrows, "sounds like someone is afraid to embarrass themselves on the dance floor."

He scowls. "I am an _excellent_ dancer."

She raises an eyebrow in disbelief. "Then prove it."

She knows how he ticks, it seems. He can never resist a challenge, and this woman is fraught with them. He has been doomed from the start.

"Let's go."

 

.::.

 

Their instructor is an older Latin man with a pot belly, but from how he moves and the sultry way he describes dancing, it is likely he was quite the ladies' man in his prime.

"The tango is all about seduction," he says, but it's hard to feel _seductive_ in a brightly lit community center, though Robin tries to rally. "It starts with your eyes. Stare at one another and convey that deep emotion. Tell each other your wishes with a look." Robin cracks a nervous smile, which compliments Regina's amused one. Thanks to her, he's able to prevent himself from laughing, just barely.

Because it stops being funny when she shoots him a painfully tempting look. He forgets how to breathe for a second.

"Good, both of you, good eyes," he instructor compliments. And Robin wonders what sort of look he's giving Regina right now. Whatever it is, it was reactionary and not intentional.

"Next we go to the embrace. Gentlemen, take your right hand and wrap around the middle of your partner's back, Ladies, your left hand should settle on his shoulders."

The instructor looks at Robin and Regina and grimaces. "No, the tango is intimate. You should be closer." He adjusts them so their bodies are flush against one another. Shit. "That's it."

"Poor Mr. Locksley, so afraid to get close," she teases.

"Hush, you," he growls in response, winking before he adds, "Besides, I think you just described yourself."

The words are out before he can think of their true meaning, because yes, she is afraid to get close to people in a way entirely unrelated to this tango. He sees her expression go serious for a moment, watches her as she breaks eye contact, ducking down as she tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ears. When she looks up at him her expression is back to that sexy stare she had given him at the start of the tango.

 

.::.

 

They work on basic steps, and it's relatively easy, for both of them. They fit together, and she's a good dancer. A _very_ good dancer. She's got a rhythm to the way she moves, so he shouldn't be surprised she puts it to music so well. And as the movements get more complicated and they start introducing ochos, her hips swivel and sway in a way that makes his body temperature soar.

"Someone has experience with the tango," the instructor says, pointing to them, or more specifically, to Regina. "I can show you more advanced steps while we let the beginners work."

"You've done this before," Regina says slyly as they practice some step called the "sandwich and hook."

"Marian liked to dance," Robin confesses. "Mostly salsa, but… it seems to translate better than I expected. It's been ages, though. And you?"

She scrunches her nose in the adorable way she does and the shrugs. "A few years of ballroom dance lessons." And then her voice changes to something proper and stuffy when she adds " _A proper lady must know how to dance elegantly_ . At least, that's what my mother had said. I found it incredibly boring at first, but they taught me _some_ dances I liked. This was one of them."

"Ah," Robin says, he cannot help but smile. "You've played me, Mills."

"Mm, I thought we established that I play dirty." She responds between intricate steps.

And she _is_ playing dirty. Every movement she makes is so sensual and heated and intimate...

It doesn't help that every new number they learn seems to involve wrapping their limbs around each other's. They work on something called a gancho, which requires a bit of footwork. The move is difficult, and they practice it over and over. She has a thigh between his, and has to draw it up, rubbing it against one of his. It's painfully erotic and difficult for him to concentrate on anything but the feeling of her limbs against his.

After a few more minutes they get it, and the dance feels right and wrong at the same time. Now with every movement her eyes are back on his instead of staring at her feet, now she's biting her lip as she draws herself between his legs…

Shit. He feels himself getting aroused, and fuck, this is not the time. Please god, let them move on to something that doesn't have her pushed right against his hips.

"I think you're ready to string some of these new steps together."

He recites a list of skills, pulling his dance partner up to demonstrate. The dance is a bit complicated, and Robin loses himself in trying to memorize the routine, forgetting his previous worries for a bit.

"But just go with it," the instructor advises, "feel the music, feed off one another. Do what feels right."

Then the music is on and Regina is staring at Robin with those _fuck me_ eyes, melting into his embrace with parted, beautiful, kissable lips, her limbs twisting and tangling with every step, the smell of expensive perfume mixing with a sweeter, clean scent that he's come to associate with Regina.

He swallows heavily and bites back a moan as she glides in front of him, swaying her hips in a way that is entirely unfair. And then _she_ lets out a sound, one barely audible over the music, but it's a little sigh, a little breathy gasp. Fuck, she made that sound on their night together, so many times as he kissed her, as he feasted on her.

He wonders if the dance is doing the same thing to her as it is to him, and then his mind goes down the gutter, thinking about whether she's warm and wet and ready for him. He can see her nipples, hardened little peaks poking through her shirt, despite the fact it's rather warm in this room, and he decides that yes, for the purposes of his fantasy, she's as turned on as he is. She must be wearing a very thin bra, judging from how well she's on display right now, and the shirt is thin, too... he could probably lick and suck right over them both and still feel all of her. God, if only things between them were different, he'd finish this fucking dance and then drag her somewhere secluded, stick a hand underneath that tight little skirt, and bring his mouth to her tits…

It's when she has to do a leg wrap that he realizes he's lost himself in an unfortunate train of thought. She's flush against him, balancing on one leg as the other moves to his hip. That skirt isn't really cut out for this move, or any dance move really, it's straight and tight and rucks a bit up her thighs as they move, so suddenly there's a mostly bare leg wrapped around him, and _shit._

She leans her whole body into him, her lower belly flush against the evidence of his arousal. He gives himself an indulgent second to shut his eyes into a wince, bites back a moan at the feeling of her, soft and warm around him. And then he looks back down and finds her head tilted and eyebrow raised, eyes fixed in a very pointed glare.

"Sorry," he whispers. Christ, he feels like an ass, this was just supposed to be a fun distraction from her life, and here he is gawking at her and rubbing against her (unintended, of course), and she probably thinks he's looking at this day as an opportunity to make a move, and that's _not_ it, though it may seem the case.

She holds his stare for a few more moments as they dance, until he can't help but crack a nervous smile, which appears to prompt her to change her expression back to the sultry one she'd worn before. This time when he looks in her eyes he doesn't dare let his thoughts roam into what it feels like between the sheets with her.

He keeps the dance friendly.

When the routine is over, the lesson ends. They collect their belongings. He puts his tie back on and rolls down his sleeves. She pulls out a compact and smoothed her hair. They do this together, but in complete silence. It occurs to him, as he is leaving the studio that he hasn't said a word to Regina since the embarrassing moment when she pressed against his erection, and she may leave before he can fix this. He has to say something. If he doesn't, the awkwardness will spill over everything, ruining all future moments they have together, and he won't have that.

But his mouth is dry, his mind blank, and all he can think of is another sincere apology.

"Regina, I —"

Her lips curve into a smile and she shakes her head slightly, all too aware of where this conversation is headed. "It's alright, Robin, really. I was just teasing you," she whispers back.

"No, I—"

She shrugs, eyebrows raised in jest. "Maybe I found it flattering," she admits, her eyes dropping pointedly to his crotch before glancing back up at him, "or maybe I find it to be a great compliment of my dancing skills."

He chuckles, letting relief wash over him. "You're a gorgeous dancer. Very…" he searches for the right word to say. Seductive? Erotic? Sexy? Sensual? "...expressive."

She raises a brow and laughs. And then she does the opposite of what he expects and wraps her arms around his neck. They are against a building, on a sidewalk crowded with foot traffic, yet everything suddenly feels more intimate.

"Expressive, huh?"

He swallows heavily. "Mmhm," he managed to hum. His hands settle at her hips like a reflex. "Very expressive and..." he draws a hand up the back of her spine. She arches into the touch, her eyes still locked into his. "Responsive," he breathes.

"You're not so bad yourself," she says in that breathy way, her eyes focused on his. He swears she is leaning into him, it's barely noticeable, but she feels just a bit closer...

"Well," he struggles to find something to say, his mind is full of inappropriate thoughts and an aching desire to kiss her. How utterly useless. He settles on the trite "we make a good team." But he moves closer to her despite himself.

"We do," she responds, her voice breathy and strained, almost like she's a bit distracted.

Her gaze drops to his lips, and she leans into him ever so slightly. Fuck, he wants to kiss her. If it were any other scenario, any other woman, he'd be doing it right now. But everything is all cocked up now, because in addition to having to work with her, he also finds he likes her, far too much. He wants her to know him, truly to know him, and to feel comfortable around him. And he can't imagine she will find spending time with him overly comfortable if he keeps obviously gawking at her and trying to kiss her every time the mood strikes.

Her hands slide slowly from behind his neck and drift down to his chest. That's it, she's about to give him a playful push back (he should move back, should, but isn't, because her touch is hypnotizing). She wets her lips.

But then those hands grab at his tie and she's pulling him towards her. Robin's heart thunders in his chest for a second of disbelief before he accepts what is happening and lets her crash her mouth into his.

He hadn't expected this, had not let himself truly believe there was something between them, that she was being anything besides polite about his obvious crush. But he can't deny it now, not when she's the one who kissed _him_ , and it's electric and thrilling and feels _right._

Her lips are warm and wet, and he drinks in the soft feeling of them pressed against his, the way he's pictured so often since their night together. And then Regina gives him more, opening the kiss and swiping her tongue against his lips. He invites her in, lips parting as he finally lets his hand move from her hips, letting one arm trace up her spine until it's in her hair, combing and threading it between his fingers as he presses her against him. The other arm sinks low to the small of her back.

One of her hands still clings tightly to his tie, but the other is wrapped around him, holding him close. It feels intimate and passionate, maybe a little needy, but whatever it is, it's the hottest god damned thing in the world.

She tastes like mint and cinnamon, and her tongue has this swirling pattern of movement that drives him insane. He can't help but moan as he deepens the kiss, unable to resist, as his fingers scratch her scalp.

This has to end soon, he knows it does. Still, his mind is already running away with him, he's imagining lifting her off the ground, slamming her against the brick wall behind her while he palms shamelessly at her ass.

But that can't happen, because in addition to being far too forward, they are in public. They are in fact in the middle of a crowded street in broad daylight, making out like hungry, hurried teenagers, and she's clearly _not_ a PDA person which makes this seem all the more special, all the more thrilling.

They both become a little breathless and the kiss begins to break into little tongue filled smacks between heavy pants. She moves back, enough so she can look up and into his eyes. And she must like what she sees, because she throws herself back into the kiss, moaning indulgently as she does, that beautiful leg hooking around his ankle like she had that first night they were together.

"What—" she swoops in for another kiss, one that lasts a bit longer than he thought she'd allow— "what are we— _oh! Mm!"_  This time he dives back in, tentatively at first, though he needn't, she melts into the kiss and starts gripping him tighter.

They explore each other's mouths for a bit longer, hands wandering and lingering. His touch swipes light and politely over the swell of her ass, and the moment he does she lets out this breathy little sigh that makes his cock twitch.

She rips apart from him suddenly and unexpectedly, breath blowing out in heavy huffs. "What are we doing?" she asks. She's quite the sight, lips pink and swollen from being kissed, hair a bit messy from his hand playing in them, skirt a little askew... but her expression is a tad fearful, and he won't have that.

He won't have her worrying about it.

"Just going with it," Robin says in the instructor's clipped accent. He cups her chin in his right hand, smiling at her. "Feeling the music—"

She laughs and smiles. "There's no music," she breathes. If she's trying to argue against _this_ , she's doing an awful job of it, especially the way she keeps focusing on his lips, her eyes fluttering as she continues to catch her breath.

"Doing what feels good," Robin says, again reciting what the dance instructor had said, but this time, he foregoes the accent. "Aren't we?"

She grips the back of his head and closes the distance between them again. It's another tantalizing kiss, has him growing even harder as she sucks at his bottom lip and dives back in for more, holding him tightly against her.

God he can't wait to get her alone. Maybe they can just... go back to his car, somewhere he can kiss her a little longer…

She backs out of this kiss just as suddenly as she had the last, and he fights the urge to pull her back.

"This... we can't… nothing's changed. We can't _date._ I'm still, you know, I've still got _things_ I _need_ to do, and..."

"Shhh," Robin says kissing her forehead. His heart twists a little at hearing that he can't have her the way he wants, but he was an idiot for hoping otherwise even for a few seconds. She's still an escort, she's still got a secret up her sleeve she's unwilling to share, and she probably still doesn't trust him. And with her past, who could blame her? "I'm not asking you to change anything."

"But you—" she sighs, her eyes closed in concentration. When they open, they are a bit misty. "You like me."

"Very much," he agrees.

"I shouldn't be doing this…" she says, "it's, it's not right, it's…"

"It's a distraction," he says, smiling at her and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "And I don't mind it being that. That's what this day is about."

He's lying through his teeth, and it hurts, watching the worry drain from her face and a new, relieved expression fall over each feature. She doesn't _want_ this to be any more than a distraction, and his words have alleviated any guilt that she may have held for him.

"I don't want to hurt you," she admits, "I know we haven't known each other for too long, but you already mean a lot to me."

"I'm not hurt," he lies. What's the point in telling the truth? He's not half as hurt as he would be if she pulled away from him, and that's what she's going to do if he's honest. "And you mean a lot to me, too."

She smiles brightly, and then grimaces, checking her phone. "It's 4:15, I have to pick up Henry from camp soon."

"I should get home too," Robin sighs. But he's still hard as a rock, and not quite ready to walk down a crowded street right now, not mere seconds after he's been in a surprising, heated makeout session with the woman he's been dreaming about for weeks. He starts to catalog the things he has to do when he gets home. A pile of dishes that Ashley will have no doubt left in the sink. Roland's toys will be all over the place. He'll probably have to call Mulan and ask her how that sales pitch went…

Regina grabs his hand and motions him to walk with her probably to his car, and he shakes his head sheepishly. He makes a joke of it, referencing her comment just a few minutes ago on this very problem. "Give me a moment. I believe a part of me may be, uh, _flattering_ you again."

She giggles at that, and then leans against him (oh god, this is the opposite of what he needs) and continues to chuckle against his shoulder. The intimacy of her breath on his neck makes him go red and tingly, but it also tickles, and he can't help but laugh along with her.

"You're enjoying this too much," he chastises in jest.

"It's been a good day," she admits, removing herself from his embrace. "Oh!" She reaches in her tote bag and pulls out the stuffed monkey that's been peeking out the entire day. "For Roland. Tell him to snuggle it extra tight if he is in pain. It has healing properties."

"Does it now," Robin asks, looking down at the stuffed animal in a way that is far too endearing, "I'll be sure to tell him." He thinks of his son's toothy grin, his warm hugs, and how happy Regina's gift will make him.

Despite everything, Robin can't say he's anything other than a lucky guy.

"Let's get you home," he says, taking her arm in his.

 

.::.

 

Fuck. That was a good kiss.

Robin isn't the only one who had been getting turned on all day. By the time she gets to her car, she's wet and aching and a bit dizzy with need.

Shit.

She doesn't know what had gotten into her. He's hot, for fuck's sake he's gorgeous, but she interacts with other beautiful people all the time without feeling the need to stick a hand up her skirt before driving home. And yet, every innocent touch seemed to light her up all day. Even when they were just teasing each other, when he was giving her arm a light tap, or stealing a piece of pretzel from her grasp.

The dancing had been a terrible idea. It seemed like a great one at the time, it gave her an excuse to touch him, stare at him, be held by him... yes, that was nice. But it quickly became too much. He had taken off his tie, undone a few buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves, and suddenly he'd become even more irresistible. And he dances, well, wonderfully. That's when her mind had run amuck, and memories of their time together — the warm, passionate way he had undressed her, the way he'd touched her, hesitantly at first, and then with a boldness that thrilled her, fuck, his tongue on her breasts, how he'd felt sliding in and out of her...

She'd tried her best to focus on the dance moves, and they were complex enough to keep her interest, at least, but every time she stared at him she felt the hot twinge of lust, a full ache of arousal growing in her.

Finding out he had been turned on too kicked everything into high gear, had her even more needy to work off the sexual tension of the day. She'd tried to make it into a joke (they are good at joking and teasing one another, it's one of many things she enjoys about spending time with Robin), but truly she was fighting the instinct to grind against where he'd been hard for her, and see if they couldn't both soothe each other's aches.

It's only partially due to his looks and his skill in the bedroom, this she knows. It's been ages since she's felt this at ease with anyone, and being this comfortable with someone she's _this_ attracted to is a special kind of wonderful feeling, and her body is crying out for more. God, she wanted to give it what it needed.

She had gotten damn near close to just going for it all in the midst of that heavy make out session. And god, that felt amazing and meant the world to her. It was exhilarating and special not only because she's _incredibly_ attracted to Robin and she _feels_ things for him. It's also because it is the first time since Daniel where she's been with someone without having the rest of the night written for her. Without feeling a sense of obligation to fulfill her part of a deal.

She _wanted_ to go further despite the time of day, despite the fact there absolutely was no place or time to do more.

She has a few moments before she has to pick up Henry to just imagine calling Robin and asking him to come back for a few private moments in her car. That's... not a good idea. She's already turned on to the point of distraction, to where it's probably unsafe to drive, and the thought of him taking her hard in her backseat as if they were sexually charged teenagers is _not_ the image she needs if she wants to avoid caving to her desires giving herself a much-needed orgasm, here on the driver's seat of her car while it idles in a parking garage. God, she needs to calm down.

She's never been more grateful for an email notification to pop up. Good, she needs to focus on something other than Robin's body already.

The email is from her attorney. Shit.

 

_Regina:_

_We received the last of the discovery responses in your case. Leopold has undergone a psychiatric evaluation and completed anger management. The psychological report highlights his commitment to being a better father and desire to spend more time with Henry. Our best bet is to contest the validity of the report due to bias. It appears the psychologist who prepared the evaluation appears to have some ties to the Blanchards._

_However, I have to tell you, they intend to call Leopold's pastor, counselor, anger management sponsor, and his brother. They are going to emphasize the fact he's changed, and that he's accepted responsibility for his actions. This plays well to judges._

_We have a strong case. Dr. Hopper is strongly in favor of the current arrangement. Mrs. Lucas will make a good witness. Rosa Fey, the social worker who sits in on Henry's supervised visits, will also be a promising witness. We will need Henry to testify or speak with the judge, as well. However, even with all this, I need you to be prepared for the possibility of unsupervised visitation. The judge's clerk has already called asking if we could mediate prior to the hearing and settle on a compromise._

_If he does get unsupervised visitation, don't worry. It isn't' the end of the battle. We got Henry away from him once, and we can again._

_We can discuss this further on Tuesday when you come in for the hearing prep._

_Sincerely,_

_David Nolan_

 

A wave of anxiety washes over her like a cold shower. Everything is crumbling apart, and it's doing so too early. She's not _ready_ for this, she doesn't have the money available to enact Hugo's plan and get Henry and herself away from all this.

And that only reminds her that she _still_ needs a new client. She's been down a regular since Eric left the face of the earth, and that throws her monthly income (and timeline for enacting her plan) all off. When she agreed to go out with Robin she had hoped he'd be her new regular, but that didn't work out.

That was months ago and she _still_ has been putting this off.

Though it's a shitty time to remember she has to add another man to her dance card. Right now the thought of being with anyone else after a few moments with Robin feels absolutely wrong, has guilt rising in her that has no reason to be there.

It's probably a good thing that Robin never became her regular. Hell, even if he had been, even if he had Mulan cover that meeting with Fran Bleu, even if Regina never got to know him through her day job, she is certain they'd have...something more than she ever had with any other client. They'd still have this chemistry and this natural complement to each other's personality. They'd have the same feelings for one another, they would just have added sex to their current situation.

At least this way they aren't fucking. And thank god for that, because that would be cruel to Robin. She can't be what Robin needs, or what he deserves. And he's lonely and deserving of love and all she will do is complicate things.

She can't quit the job that has her spreading her legs for strangers. And she can't stay here in this awful town.

She and Henry have to disappear. As soon as she has the $200,000 cash available for Hugo, they will do exactly that.

And then they will be gone, without getting to say as much as a goodbye to anyone they know, including the new man in her life who she cares about, far too much, after knowing him for far too little time.

She wishes, _of course_ she wishes that there was a magical option where she could find her happily ever after with Robin, but she knows leaving is the only way to protect Henry. And yes, it means she doesn't get to feel nice and date hot British men, but hell, she lost the right to be upset about that when she sold her soul and her son's paternity for the promise of wealth and comfort.

So that's it. She's going to get a new regular right now, and stop putting this off already and hoping for things that can never be.

She scans her _second_ email account, the one that stays hidden, locked away on her phone. There are a few emails requesting her services from people she doesn't recognize, people she will have to do intense background checks on. It will take time, and she will have to get to know them and feel out whether they are likely to engage in this sort of thing on a monthly or bimonthly basis.

But then she sees an email from a name she recognizes.

 

_Alexandra,_

_Mia gave me your email and asked that I connect directly with you for a request for a second appointment. Mia, you, and I shared an evening not too long ago, and it was spectacular. It's one I'd love to repeat, though this time, I'd like to spend time with just you. Please let me know if there are any questions I need to answer or hoops I need to jump through to arrange this. Thank you._

_Sincerely,_

_Isaac Heller_

 

There was… nothing wrong with him. There was nothing right, either, but he was harmless, and he's a regular client of Mal's which not only means he has worked with an agency and knows how to behave, but that he's likely to use her services over and over.

And she already knows he likes her.

So that's it.

She pushes back the voice in her head that screams this is wrong, because nothing done to protect Henry is _wrong._

Regina writes Isaac back, and asks him when he'd like to schedule their appointment. And then she shifts her car into drive, and focuses on the fact that regardless of what the future holds, right _now,_ her little boy, her whole world, is safe and sound, probably finishing up a game of Capture the Flag.

Regardless of what the future holds, everything is alright.

For now.


	10. Chapter 10

She hates Friday mornings in Gold's office.

He usually springs these meetings on her without any advance notice. Just a note on her chair or a shrill command ordered from his personal assistant into the phone as soon as she's sat down at her desk.

This meeting is quite anticipated, however. She's overdue a recap of all her accounts, and she hasn't so much as sent him an email about her meeting at Mushu (or lack of meeting, as it were).

They go through her accounts in detail, and Gold makes a point to make little passive aggressive digs that undermine every single one of her accomplishments. It's par for the course, hardly even bothers her anymore.

"I want you to sit in on the next meeting with Fran Bleu," he says, "just as a follow up. She still wants Mr. Locksley in as acting CEO. I assured her you were doing everything possible to convince everyone it was for the best. She may want to hear it from you directly."

Regina nods and gets up from her chair. "I'm not sure Fran _ever_ wants to hear from me, but I'll be happy to reach out."

She's halfway out the door when Gold calls out to her (and isn't this so textbook), "Forgot about something, dearie, could you close that door for a second? It's... sensitive." He holds up an envelope and beckons her to come towards the desk and take it.

It feels like a lead weight falls deep in her stomach, leaving her queasy and nauseous. Her mind springs to life of all the different scenarios of things Gold may be holding in his hand, and none of them are good.

Her escorting business. Her connection to Hugo. Any one of the thousand questionable things she's done to ensure Henry is safe over the years. Anything.

She tries to keep her fingers from trembling as she takes the manilla envelope and opens it.

There are pictures inside.

A bit blurry, from a distance, of a street. A crowded one. But there, against the brick of a storefront, is a familiar image.

Her little makeout session was memorialized, it appears.

There are more pictures, others of them just talking with arms around one another, then walking together, and some of those shots zoom in on the faces enough to make it undeniable that yes, it is her and Robin.

She can't believe Gold for made her sit through an entire meeting before dropping this bombshell. Clearly he's been planning on firing her the whole day and just wanted to lure her into some false sense of security.

And if she's going out, she might as well go out with a bang. She _should_ tell Gold exactly what she thinks of him. Shaking hands turning into clenched fists as she sets the pictures aside.

"They were dropped by the office this morning. Anonymously. With a note that reads," he makes a theatrical display of taking out the note, waving it in the air and slapping it, putting on reading glasses and following a line of text with a single index finger.

_Mr. Gold,_

_I thought it may interest you to find out what your employee Regina Mills is doing with her clients during working hours. I am sure you agree such behavior is ill-fitting your prestigious firm, and warrants her dismissal._

_Sincerely,_

_A friend_

Gold looks up at Regina at that moment and catches her looking shocked and dumbfounded. Damn it. "What I can't figure is why these pictures were snapped just yesterday, when you have — what is it, a custody battle? Coming up next week. Surely you'd know to be on your best behavior. Didn't you know hiring a private investigator is typical in cases where they are trying to prove the mother is unfit?"

She just stares at him, holding up the pictures. " _This_ doesn't make me an unfit mother. How could it even—"

"Oh I agree, dearie. Quite. But it may make you a bad employee." He stares up at her, head cocked in amusement. "Of course, I did say that I wanted you to secure this account and Mr. Locksley's trust by any means necessary, didn't I? And there's a reason I kept you on after I found out about your past together. I saw the way he looked at you. He wanted another taste."

She swallows the bile that threatens to rise from her throat at what he's implying. "I don't know what you think this is all about but I did not—"

Gold just waves his hand dismissively. "It's no matter, dearie. If this is how you wish to get Robin to trust you and our advice, it has no affect on me. In fact, it certainly goes above and beyond the call of duty."

"That's not what this is about," Regina says, throwing the photographs down.

"Is it compromising your job?" Gold asks, contemplatively.

"No." Regina says defiantly.

"I suppose if Ms. Cheng were my client, I'd be calling her to inform her of this... canoodling. And ask if she felt comfortable with you remaining in charge of the account. Of course, this account is not hers, but Constellation's. Fran Bleu is our client."

Regina raises her eyebrows. "You and I both know if you disclose this she'll not only want me off the account, she'll sour on Robin as well."

"I do know that," Gold confirms, "Sometimes it's best to keep the client in the dark. For their own good. So run along dearie, let's keep this to ourselves."

Regina nods, holding her breath as she takes each painfully slow step out of his office, determined not to look as shaken and broken as she clearly is.

 

.::.

 

It's days like these when she wishes she could kill Leopold Blanchard. A part of her — a very _strong part,_ wishes she had just done it years ago. She sometimes feels that vengeance is innate within her, that she's always fighting instincts to hurt or kill, and never does that seem more true as now, as she grits her teeth and pictures Leo's bloody, decapitated body lifeless on the ground and his worthless head on a stick.

But as long as she still has her son to care for, she cannot risk killing Leopold in the manner he deserves.

She takes a deep breath, and focuses on Henry. And her anger is replaced by fear, the weak emotion she was trying to get away from in the first place. Nervous fingers dial David's number as she tries to control her breathing. She's no idea what is in store for her at the hearing, not anymore. She speaks to David's receptionist, trying to fight herself from either yelling and screaming on the phone or having a full blown panic attack right here and now.

She tries to sound normal. But when the receptionist connects her to David and she hears his worried tone, she knows she has failed.

"Regina, is everything alright?" And bless the man for following up with a "did he hurt you?"

"No," she assures, breathing heavily. "I think _I_ just hurt us."

She explains the details of what happened quickly, about the anonymous pictures delivered to her boss, and about her kiss with Robin, but she does not explain the escorting. David doesn't need to know that. And if Leopold had found out, he surely would have shared it with Gold, right?

She's midway down the rabbit hole, theorizing that perhaps Leo will argue she has a love life that is interfering with Henry when David cuts her off.

"First off, I doubt judge—- umm, actually I'm not sure what judge we have yet. You know, we might have gotten judicial assignments, let me check—" he calls out to his receptionist, asking to check the courthouse docket for a courtroom for their hearing. "Regardless of who we end up with, however, no judge in their right mind — even if paid off to high heaven — is going to make the argument that you are unstable or should lose custody because you are dating."

"It wasn't a _date."_ she insists, "I just... I had a moment of weakness. I kissed him, it was—"

"Who cares what it was, Regina. You've been divorced for five years. You didn't abandon Henry to go out with this man. You shared a kiss. It is healthy. It's nothing they can use against you. My guess is they know that. They sent the pictures to Gold hoping this information was enough to get him to fire you. They _could_ try to argue that losing your job for behaving inappropriately with a client is an indication of… mixed priorities. But I doubt that was their intention either. My guess is this is just more about making your life miserable. This is a scare tactic, Regina. Ignore it. I mean, you are probably being watched, and I'd avoid doing anything illegal until the trial," he chuckles and she winces, thinking of her illegal activities, and oh, if he knew he would _not_ laugh, "but this is nothing. Let them try to bring this up at trial. I'll destroy them. Hold on a second."

She hears the muffled voice of the receptionist then, followed by David's laughter.

"Regina, we have Judge White. You _really_ don't have anything to fear when it comes to this. Out of everyone on the bench she's the least likely to ever accept a bribe, so I this is the best case scenario. Just keep your nose clean, and I'll see you next week for prep, okay?"

David is like a smooth balm over her burning anxiety, and listening to him, all confident and strong on the matter, alleviates some of her worry, and stops her succumbing to her fears and falling into terror.

She hangs up feeling more grounded, and confident.

Which is great, because she has a very difficult phone conversation to make.

She picks up her cell phone and scrolls through her contacts. There's no picture of him in her phone, and that is for the best, because if the sight of just his name has her smiling like this, who knows what a picture of the man would do to her.

"Hello, Regina," he answers on the third ring. He sounds happy, if a bit surprised, perhaps due to the fact she's calling him on his cell phone. All business-related phone calls between them have been made through the office line. But this is not quite business call, is it?

"Hi," she answers, a bit tentative, unsure of how to inform him of what she just learned from Gold when she is too busy reliving gentle kisses and warm embraces from the man on the opposite end of the phone. And then she's making small talk with an embarrassing "How are you?"

"I'm feeling downright chipper this morning," he responds cheekily. She lets her mind wander to to yesterday's unexpected makeout session for a second before he's adding a concerned, "How are you holding up? Is everything alright with the custody hearing?"

She takes a moment to appreciate how wonderful it is to have someone who who remembers the difficult parts of her life and actually _cares_ about her. And then she shakes it off. She's holding up just fine. She can handle this without his involvement. "It's nothing about that. Well, it _may_ be, but I can't be sure. But something is going on and now it concerns you."

She tells him about Gold's meeting, and the pictures of him. It is incredibly mortifying, bringing up that moment in this capacity. He questions on the pictures, the angle, the clarity, the details. It's incredibly stressful, but as she admits that one of the pictures has her leg wrapped around his while his hand is in her hair, she feels flushed and hot for several different reasons.

"How exactly is your idiotic ex-husband going to use these pictures against you again?" Robin asks. He sounds angry, and annoyed, though she knows he's not upset with her.

"David thinks he's just trying to scare me before the hearing. Or, possibly he wants me fired. It isn't going to affect the hearing, apparently."

"Good," Robin says, breathing out a long sigh. He sounds relieved when he adds, "If anything I did somehow hurt you in court, I don't know if I could—"

"I kissed you," Regina cuts him off, "this isn't on _you._ "

"I kissed you plenty," he reminds (he needn't, the moment is etched in her memory), "I wasn't exactly a passive player there. But if it won't hurt you, we should be good, right?"

But they aren't "good". She's put him in danger with this little stunt. This is exactly why she prides herself on being discreet, on being so strictly against PDA when she escorts. Regina has known for some time that Leo would lose it if he heard she was dating someone — that he would find a way to make both their lives hell. But in the heat of the moment, with Robin's arms around her, smelling nice and looking the way he does... well, Regina didn't think of the consequences and now it may hurt him terribly.

"I don't want to make your life any more complicated," she whispers, her voice cracking and honest, "but I wanted to tell you about this, in case Leo decides to make your life miserable too. He… I think he wants to destroy anyone I care about."

The words are out before she can rethink them, and then they just hang in the air, taunting her, silence on the other end of the phone. He knows she cares for him, she said as much last night. But it somehow seems more honest, more telling, more _real_ now that she's explaining how her ex-husband may go after him for being around her. So Regina takes the coward's way out. "Or anyone he thinks I care for."

"I'm not afraid of the Blanchards," Robin assures yet again. "So if this is going to be another one of those 'you should run far away from me' speeches, darling, you can forego it. I've been warned. I don't let people scare me out of doing the things I want, or getting close to the people I want to get close to."

It sends a chill down her back, a prickly wave of nervous energy at just the fact that despite all of this he still isn't running. He still wants to know her better, and it's a shame he won't. And then she assures him, "It's not one of those speeches. I just wanted to give you a heads up. Gold uh, said ordinarily he would be calling Mulan to inform her of our… fraternizing," Regina explains, "and while he later said he wouldn't, I'm not sure I believe him. And I don't know what your company policy is on this sort of thing, but—"

Robin laughs, loudly, and she doesn't get the chance to finish her sentence. "Oh god, the last thing we need to worry about is Mulan. Though I'm sure she'd enjoy giving me grief over it. She's far too interested in my lack of a love life and this will not help her ongoing comedy routine on the matter."

She imagines Mulan, then, from what she knows of the woman. Pictures her not as a CEO chastising an employee for getting mixed up with the hired help, but as a friend giving her bestie a gentle ribbing over his love life. The image fits. Mulan may not be the most professional of CEOs, but that's come to work in their favor, hasn't it?

"Well, I'm sorry for any mockery you are subjected to on my account," she drawls playfully.

"Pfft, no apologies necessary. Feel free to, uh, subject me to as much mockery as you would like. Particularly by kissing me."

She laughs audibly despite her attempt to hide it. "I needed a laugh," she admits, "so thank you."

"Stressed about next week?" he asks. She hums affirmatively, foregoing any pretense of being _fine_. A wave of nerves still course through her at the thought of admitting something she sees as weak, but somehow she trusts him to not use her fears and stressors against her.

"Who is going to be there for you?" he asks, his voice curious and soft.

"Mrs. Lucas, from next door. Dr. Hopper. Rosa, the social worker—"

"No, no, I mean who is going to be there _for you._ Who is going to be there to support you through the day?"

Oh. He probably knows her well enough to know she doesn't truly have a support system, but she's kept a lot of that from him.

"Any family, or…?"

"I haven't seen my family in years." She fidgets at that confession, just because she can. He can't see her on this side of the phone. And then she says a soft, "I don't want to talk about that right now."

"Alright," Robin agrees. "Your friend, the one I met that day at your house, can she…?"

Regina takes a deep breath. "That's a complicated story. But Mal can't be there. She would, if she could, but…"

"I can be there," Robin interrupts. "Let me be there, in case you need someone to lean on, or vent to, or just to have your back."

"I... I have David. My attorney."

"And I'm sure he's lovely, but I'm talking about someone you don't pay by the hour who can distract Henry if you need a minute to process and recharge."

God, he has a point. Henry's older now, and whatever comes out at this hearing is likely to upset her deeply. Mrs. Lucas has a grandson to get back to, and that leaves Regina alone.

But she won't have Robin attending the hearing. Leopold must be behind the anonymous pictures she just received, meaning he knows she is... interested in Robin. Between the kiss, and seeing him at her home weeks ago, Leopold is _definitely_ aware of it. And she doesn't need Leo to start attacking the few good people in her life. She's been the cause of enough problems for others..

"No, that's not a good idea. He'll go after you if he sees you, it may rile him up—-"

"Good, maybe I'll get him so upset he will have a meltdown in the courtroom." Robin argues. "I have nothing better to do that day anyway. Let me do this."

She wants to say yes. Wants to accept the comfort he's offering and walk into that courtroom knowing someone is there to hold her together, to patch her up if something in there has her falling apart.

But Robin is a good man. As much as she wants the comfort, she knows he doesn't deserve the headache that goes with it. Leopold's vengeance knows no bounds, and she won't risk Robin getting hurt. Besides, all this will do is make them closer, and the more she relies on him the harder it will be for both of them when she disappears.

"No." She says firmly. "I don't want you there, not in the courtroom. It will... complicate things. It may make things worse for me, not better. And maybe I gave you the wrong impression yesterday, but I'm not looking for… I don't _need_ a..."

"This isn't about me wanting to date you, Regina, it's about me wanting to be there for a friend. And we are friends, right?"

"Yes. And as _your friend,_ I'm telling you to stay away from that courtroom. I don't want you hurt because of me. So promise me you will stay away."

He sighs deeply but says nothing. She braces herself for an argument, but then he surprises her again. "Fine. If it means that much to you, I will stay away from that courtroom. But if you need anything…"

"I'll call. I promise."

 

.::.

 

The weekend is spent frantically cleaning and rearranging appointments. She's not going to risk going out with a man this week, not when a private investigator may be watching her. She's careful, always careful, and it's very hard to get caught with how she runs her business model. But she doesn't need people asking why she's been seen in a hotel room for a random evening.

So she begs off the new client for now, telling him her schedule will be up in the air until thursday evening.

Killian Jones had asked for a session that was supposed to be next week. It was only two hours, and could be done while Henry was at baseball practice and dinner with friends. But it wasn't worth the risk. Instead she offers an overnight on Saturday, a day Henry has already planned to go over to Aidan's after baseball.

She'll drop him off, then head to Killian's plush hotel suite (he's earned her trust enough for her to no longer insist on these dates concluding at _her_ own hotel room, years of loyal business does come with some perks).

And then there's nothing left to do but to prepare for the hearing. Preparing _Henry_ for the hearing.

He's eating a late morning breakfast, craning his neck from the kitchen table to see the tv. She's nervous, watching him. He looks so young, so ungodly innocent, with cereal far too sugary and cartoons far too silly.

"So...you know the judge is going to ask you some questions next week..." she starts.

He pauses mid-chew, drops his spoon into his bowl with a wet clatter, and then his expression changes and it's as if he's aged three years in a matter of seconds.

"Yeah, I can answer them all, mom." he assures, "I'm okay." Henry looks up at her and asks, "Is he going to to try to take me away from you?"

Her heart breaks. That's Leo's plan, but he won't win. She's certain of that.

"No one can take you away from me. I'd never let _that_ happen, okay? There may be some things said about me that you don't like—" she starts, but he cuts her off with a _I won't believe them_ and it makes her proud and guilty at the same time. Her son deserves so much better than this. "Henry, it's my job to protect you, and I am so sorry you have to do this. If you don't want to do this, you don't have to. I'm trying everything I can to prevent it, you're my baby—"

"I'm not a baby." He crosses his arms, scowling in a way that is so reminiscent of Daniel it hits her in the gut. "You are always worried about me. I can be brave you know."

"I know, you _are_ brave, Henry, i'm so proud of —"

"I'm not afraid to talk to the judge. And you know what? If the judge makes me spend more time with _him_ , I'll be okay. I promise."

It breaks her heart a little, the way her juts his chin out defiantly. But she knows it's all talk — she's seen her boy around him; he is still scared. She knows he doesn't have those memories from times before the supervised visitation, but the trauma may have imprinted on him. She hears the fear in his voice when Leo shows up unannounced, that wide eyed look he gives the few times Leo has fixed it so they have to see him in the parking lot for those supervised visits.

That's not the worst part, though. The worst part is Henry now feels he has to hide his fear and put on a brave face for his own damn mother. She won't accept this.

"We are going to try to make it so you don't have to see him without Ms. Rosa there. But if that doesn't happen, I want you to be careful. Be quiet, and try to do what he wants, so you don't upset him. Don't listen to the things he says when he's angry. And you can call me whenever you need to, and I'll keep you safe."

Henry frowns in protest. "But he's meaner to you than he is to me. You are always trying to protect me, but who will protect you?"

Henry doesn't know that this is one of her fears, so he doesn't understand the pain in her chest right now. "You don't have to worry about me, i'm an adult, and you are my son. It's not your job to worry about me."

He grows silent, and she can tell there's something in his lips, something he wants to say but is holding back. He swallows whatever it was and his expression shifts.

"Okay, mom." he breaths, putting on a brave smile. "Don't worry about me, either."

She bites down a laugh that bubbles in her throat. Oh, like that is possible.

 

.::.

 

She hates court.

It's always cold in the courtroom. The first time she went to court it was winter, and she blamed the old or poor ventilation. But now it's summer, boiling hot outside but over air conditioned inside, enough to make her shiver. David told her it's for the judges. They wear heavy robes over suits, they like things a bit cooler. But Regina imagines the judges enjoy seeing people uncomfortable, unable to feel warm or relaxed. The temperature is perfect for that.

David is next to her, looking quite dashing in his navy blue suit, a worn briefcase on the table, sorting through notes, copies of police reports — evidence she assumes he intends to present to the court. His laptop is open to an organized list of questions.

He's prepared for battle, she can give him that. Henry is playing games on the ipad with headphones in, and she...she can do nothing but lose herself to her own fears, imagining the worst resolution possible for each scenario.

Leo walks in five minutes before the hearing is scheduled to start, his lawyers on either side of him, like two old, wrinkled body guards. He can't resist trying to get at her in any way he possibly can.

"Not even a courteous greeting, Regina? Add lack of manners to the list of reasons why you shouldn't be raising the boy."

David's hand grabs hers under the table. He squeezes it tight, offering a knowing look, before leaning into whisper, "Don't even look at him. Now even a glance in his direction, alright?"

Regina nods. She's used to this. This kind of behavior is expected from Leo, even, so she's prepared herself for this jibes. It's been part of her life — But she does catch George King scolding Leo out of the corner of her eye, and that gives her some pleasure.

"All rise, the Honorable Judge White presiding," The bailiff calls out. Regina takes the headphones out of Henry's ears as she rises on shaky knees she prays her son doesn't see. Henry stands alongside her, straight and confident.

He looks so cute in his little suit. But also strong and fearless.

She's proud of him. If nothing good comes from this hearing, at least she has this reminder: Henry isn't as broken as she fears.

"Before we start," Judge White says, smiling warmly at both parties, "I'm going to remind all parties that the courtroom has been cleared and a gag order still extends to all proceedings. Now I'm sure your attorneys, being good attorneys, have advised you what that means, but I want to reiterate this. I intend to explain this to every witness in this case, but I want to reiterate it to you both first. Ms. Mills, do you understand that you are not to share the testimony or anything you hear during this custody hearing with anyone outside this room? No media, no friends, no relatives?"

"Yes your honor."

"Mr. Blanchard, do you understand the gag order _also_ extends to you, and that you are prohibited from sharing _any_ of the testimony you hear today with the press, relatives, friends, or anyone in Ms. Mills' life?"

Well, that's new. No judge had ever bothered to recite the gag order to Leopold. Because the gag order was meant to protect _him_ and his precious reputation.

Leo seems just as surprised as Regina. He scowls deeply, murmuring something angrily to his attorney.

"Mr. Blanchard, I just asked you a question, I'd appreciate an answer."

His attorneys seem frustrated with their client as they whisper something back to him.

"Yes, Your Honor, I understand."

His face is red, and his arms are crossed. God, he really _hates_ being told what to do.

Maybe this is a good sign.

The judge smiles sweetly back at Mr. Blanchard, as if she can't tell he's a second from blowing his top.

"Good, Thank you." She shuffles some papers on her desk and adds, "I only have one more matter." She turns to Regina, explaining, "I do not like children to have to sit through these hearings. Do either of you object to Henry leaving the courtroom under the care of my clerk? She has experience with children and will keep him occupied." She turns to Leo, checking with him as well.

It's a relief, actually, knowing Henry won't be there to witness whatever horrible things Leo will say about her.

"Yes, that's fine. Thank you, Your Honor." Regina says.

Leopold's attorneys whisper their advice into his ear, and he mutters approval as well, _thank god_ he decided not to pick a fight over this. There's a first time for everything, apparently.

She turns to Henry, who looks… worried, she supposes. He's worried about _her_ she realizes. God she hates how this entire situation has made Henry have to grow up fast.

"It's okay, ba— Henry," she corrects herself from calling him baby, lest an argument ensue about his age. She gives his hand a squeeze. The bailiff escorts him towards the Judge's chamber, and suddenly Regina feels if a weight has been lifted.

Things haven't started off so badly at all.

 

.::.

 

It's Leo's petition, and as the moving party, he gets to present his case first. It starts with Leo's counselor, some odd looking man who seems rather disinterested in the whole process. He states that he showed up to all meetings and completed his anger management training.

David asks when this anger amazement treatment began and when it ended. Apparently this session started just three months ago. David reminds the Court that he was ordered to attend and complete anger management treatment over three years ago.

There are objections, and David and George King ask to approach the bench. A conversation with the judge takes place, and she ultimately allows the testimony in. David asks if Leo has ever _failed_ anger management in the past, and the man admits he had abandoned the therapy before, but that only proves he was more committed this time.

David asks if Leo has received anger management training that deals specifically with minors. The counselor is forced to admit that there is no child-centered training available, but that the tips learned in Leo's sessions should translate to any situation.

Pastor Mendel is the next witness to the stand.

"Pastor, when did you first meet Mr. Blanchard?"

"Oh…" he scratches his head, and looks away. "I can't remember exactly… maybe…". he sighs, "over a year ago?"

"And what is your impression of Mr. Blanchard?"

"He's a god fearing man, believes very strongly in Jesus and his ability to save. He's a good member of the community, he helps people, donates food to the soup kitchen. He studies the bible with us after church...he's a model member of our congregation."

Regina fights the urge to roll her eyes. Leopold had never taken an interest in religion in his entire life. His ego is far too big to believe in a higher power.

"Has Leopold interacted with any children around you?"

"Yes, the children of the congregation are quite taken with him. He always has a treat for them, sometimes small little knick knacks, he's very good with children."

"Has he ever talked to you about his son?"

"Oh yes, Leo has mentioned how much he's missed his son, and how he wishes he could see him more. You know, a son's bond with his father is a sacred thing. And that bond has been tampered with, and when that happens, no one benefits." The pastor looks directly at Regina, and the accusation is clear as day when he adds, "I understand emotions run high when breakups occur, and divorce is a terrible thing. But we cannot let hard feelings between parents affect the relationships with the children. Leo needs to see his son more."

David whispers into her ear "just breathe, you are doing so well, keep breathing, I know it's hard to hear this right now."

It's only then that she realizes she's been squeezing his hand so tightly he must have lost circulation in jos arm. But she never makes a face at any of these ridiculous claims, keeping her features calm and non-responsive. Doesn't let them know that they are getting to her. And that's something.

When it's David's turn to cross examine, he has a field day.

"Do you know why Mr. Blanchard lost custody of his son?" he asks the pastor.

"Objection your honor, relevance…" George King jumps out of his chair, red faced and livid.

"He's a character witness who has just testified that Leopold should have his son. I've ever right to ask if he is aware of Leopold's past."

"But this hearing is not about _the past,_ it's about how he has changed!" George King blurts out. "Prior circumstances are irrelevant."

"If this is about how Mr. Blanchard has changed, then I'd like to talk to the good pastor about the transformation." David smiles at the judge, shoots that look Regina knows means victory.

"He's right Mr. King. Overruled, please continue. The witness has testified to Mr. Blanchard's character and may be crossed with any information that may change his opinion."

"Pastor?" David asks.

The pastor shrugs. "Jesus forgives. Anything that happened in the past is irrelevant to the person he is today."

"And if I told you that there is a video of Leopold choking and hitting his wife, and throwing his son into a wall… and these are facts that he's plead guilty to, mind you…"

"OBJECTION!"

But David doesn't let up, "... and that after that incident he was _still_ given an opportunity…"

Regina shrinks at this. It's a time she doesn't like to remember.

"... after Ms. Mills had agreed to Sunday visitation, Mr. Blanchard had a fit wherein he screamed in a fast food restaurant at his then-four year old son, and walked out leaving him unattended. Did you know that?"

She shudders. It was the worst mistake of her life. Before the first custody hearing, a temporary custody order gave Leopold whole weekends with her son. She had been so happy, during mediation, to get the vast majority of the time with her son that agreeing to one day a week without a contentious battle seemed like the best course of action. Annette, Leopold's sister in-law, had promised she would never let Henry out of her sight. She was assured it would be as good as supervised visitation with none of the stigma surrounding it. And no more ugly custody battles.

She had agreed to it, thinking that Leo's family would always be around to control him, and that Leo had been scared straight and would not risk hurting Henry again.

She had been wrong on all counts. It's the last time she'd ever underestimate Leo or his rotten family.

She had hauled him into court then, armed with the video evidence from that time of the club, with the brave little bus boy testifying. Surveillance footage from the McDonalds was missing, and shockingly no witnesses would agree to testify, including the officers who had shown up on the scene. But Regina got lucky. They had the 911 call, something Leo had forgotten to tamper with. And because Leo had _two_ strikes, they won that battle, and Leo was relegated to supervised visitation.

One look at the pastor says he was not aware of any of this. He looks flustered, eyes darting back to Leo in disbelief.

But before he can answer the question, Judge White asks counsel to approach, as a very heated George King argues about relevance and prejudice and god knows what else.

"You can answer the question." Judge White instructs, in her sing song voice.

"I… I did not know the circumstances. But I maintain he is a great man who deserves a second chance… or… well, a third, if you would have."

"He's a generous man too, isn't he?" David asks.

The pastor turns bright red. "He's… yes, I suppose he is."

"How much has he donated to your church?"

"I, um, don't have those numbers."

"But it's a lot, isn't it?" David asks. "Your congregation was struggling to stay afloat just six months ago. What about now?"

"We… are stable now."

"I know you said you remembered meeting Mr. Blanchard over a year ago, but is it possible the first time you met him was six months ago, when he responded to your plea for help repairing structural damage to your church?"

The pastor looks down, and exhales deeply. "Yes, i suppose I was off on the timing. Sorry about that."

"I'm sure it was unintentional," David assures, smiling at him. "Leopold is responsible for saving your church, isn't he?" David asks, ever so sweetly.

"Oh absolutely!" the pastor agrees.

"And you'd love the chance to return the favor and help him in return, right?" David asks. There's an objection, quickly overruled, and the pastor agrees.

"I won't lie for him," Mendell is quick to say, "I told him that when he asked for my testimony. I said as badly as we rely on his donation, I will not say something I know to be untrue —"

"OBJECTION, hearsay, your honor."

"Sustained. I'll disregard that answer."

But Judge White can't quite disregard it, can she? She's human, and the point has been made. Regina fights the urge to smile.

Things are going well.

Leo's brother is up next, giving a boring stump speech about how the family wants to see more of Henry, and that Leo is not a danger to anyone, that he's completely in control of his emotions. David barely asks him anything, whispering to Regina that he's a brother, his testimony is going to be taken with a grain of salt anyway.

Next up is his psychiatrist, a man named Victor Whale. He's swarmy looking, and testifies that Leo is stable, in control of his anger issues, and poses no threat to children or others. He's...twitchy, for some reason. Maybe he's nervous. Hell, maybe he's on medication. In any case, something looks off.

David gets up to cross examine slowly and carefully.

"Dr. Whale, how long did you say you have treated Mr. Blanchard?"

"For almost a year."

"And during that time did he ever mention _why_ he lost custody of his child?"

"I'm sure he did. I know there was an altercation between Ms. Mills and Mr. Blanchard, and that Henry was shoved rather hard in the middle of this argument."

"Thank you. Is that the only incident he's mentioned?"

Whale squirms a bit in his chair, as if trying to recall something. "No, there was another, but I am blanking on the circumstances… leaving his son somewhere, perhaps?"

"Alright then," David smiles, "We will work with what you remember. Now I've looked through all your records. I have not seen any reference, at any time, to Mr. Blanchard expressing remorse. Has he?"

Dr. Whale frowns. "I'm sure he's expressed remorse. Not everything we discuss is in my notes. In fact I remember it… yes. He definitely has."

This doctor couldn't look less convincing if he has tried.

"Remorse for hitting his son and intentionally abandoning him on one occasion?"

There's an objection, and he has to rephrase the question, but still, it is out there.

"Yes, he was deeply remorseful for his actions, he knows hitting a child so young was wrong. You know, men of Leopold's age were trained to think corporal punishment is the best way to discipline. But he's learned that is not the case and regret."

"So he admits the incidents involving Henry actually occurred and were intentional acts?"

Dr. Whale turns red, and looks to Leopold (who looks furious, with clenched fists and bared teeth) and to George King, who sighs and slaps a hang over his forehead.

Leopold has either denied the incidents ever occurred or that hitting Henry was a complete accident brought on by his frustration with something else.

"Yes he takes responsibility for it…" Whale says.

"Good to know. Dr. Whale, did you ever lose your license to practice medicine?"

Whale swallows heavy, and admits to having a drinking and gambling problem years ago, that cost him to show up to his office drunk on many occasions, at one point prescribing conflicting drugs for a patient that could have seriously harmed him, had he pharmacist not caught his error.

"But that was years ago," Whale says. His knee is shaking, and he looks so _uncomfortable._

"No further problems with drug or alcohol?"

He keeps shaking _. "_ Nope," he says. But suddenly the fidgeting he the glassy eyes seem to make sense. He's on something.

David takes a seat, grabbing Regina's hand.

He whispers in her ear, "I know I didn't ask a lot, but that man is obviously paid off. He's not going to say a bad word about him. I had to trick him into saying something, and highlight the fact he might be high, but that's it."

Regina nods and whispers back _I think it went perfectly._

They call Leopold next. He's well-polished, speaks in that way he does about how important Henry is to him, and how much he misses him. Oh, he's a smooth talker. If he hadn't been, she wouldn't be in this situation, would she?

David cross examines in his own way, keeping his tone even and calm, an air of professionalism surrounding his aura. "Mr. Blanchard, you see your son once a week for two hours. What do you talk about?"

"Everything that's going on in his life. Sports, tv, school…"

"What's your son's favorite television show?"

Leopold's face goes red, that smug smile turns into a deep scowl, and he looks to his attorney for help. But no help comes.

"How is that any of your business?" He turns to face David, suddenly very gruff and angry.

"I'm merely trying to establish how well you know your son," David explains. "Can you answer the question?

He can't. That much is obvious. So instead he says, "My son wouldn't share that with me. I don't know why the boy watches television at all. I wouldn't allow it. I'd have him playing outside more."

"Speaking of being outside more, what is your son's favorite sport to play?"

Leopold rolls his eyes. "He's a boy. It's fickle. Probably baseball now, it will be football come the fall, basketball in the spring…"

"If football is his favorite sport to play in the fall, why doesn't he play it?" David asks. Leo gets flustered, settles on a _Hell if I know, his mother probably won't let him._ It irks her, but David shakes it off. "What sport _does_ he play in the fall?" David asks.

Leo can't answer. The point is made, Regina can tell by the way the Judge looks at Leopold, almost disappointed and embarrassed for him. But David goes for the kill and continues to ask questions.

"What is Henry's best subject in school?"

Leo rolls his eyes. But he thinks he knows something here, the glimmer in his eyes revealing it, like he has a secret knowledge. And then he drops what he thinks is his trump card, and Regina can barely stifle a laugh. "Math. The boy has a way with numbers, always has. He spends extra time on the subject when he can."

"Are you referring to the extra tutoring Henry gets in math, do to the fact he has always struggled with that subject? According to his school records, that is."

Leo grunts, and rolls his eyes, but says nothing.

"Should I even bother asking what his favorite subject in school is?" David asks lightly. Objections are made, and David withdraws the question. But he's won.

She can see Leo getting angrier, while David just becomes more steady and even, cool and calm, a perfect contrast to Leo's angry tone.

"Maybe you two don't discuss school or activities as much," David gives, "maybe you discuss other things. Like time with his friends. And who are some of his best friends?"

This time Leopold doesn't try. "I can't keep track of the boy's friend's names. He has so many."

"Ah, so you admit that Henry is socially well-adjusted?" David asks, voice as smooth and sugary as maple syrup.

"That's not what I said," Leopold insists. But the damage is done. Any further questioning reveals that Leopold doesn't know his son, doesn't take an interest in his life the way a parent would.

"Look I don't care for what you are insinuating, I know my son well enough, none of this matters. What matters is HE IS MY SON!" Leopold is loud and forceful, rising out of his seat, leaning over to snarl at David.

It's the outburst David was looking for. He couldn't be more pleased.

"Moving on, Mr. Blanchard, do you feel remorse for striking your son?"

"Objection, your honor. Again, past actions are not relevant to this hearing."

"I'm asking about where he expresses remorse, I am not asking about the incidents themselves," David counters.

They go to the bench and debate furiously while the judge plays white noise to muffle their debate.

"Mr. Blanchard, please answer the question," the Judge directs. David smiles politely at him, and Regina cannot hide her own victorious smirk.

Leo's jaw clenches. He glares at David. "I feel remorse for my actions."

"What actions do you feel remorse for?"

"Pushing him. Shoving him. But you have to understand it was an occasion where there was an extraordinary circumstance, and—"

"Are you excusing your behavior?"

"NO! I did it, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I touched the boy, didn't leave any bruises or anything, it was light, but I did it. Now, does that mean I should be barred from getting any damn time alone with him? Didn't your mother ever spank you?"

David sighs. "You nearly choked Ms. Mills in front of Henry, do you deny this? And there were bruises on your son, from that first altercation, do you—"

"I maintain those didn't come from me—" Leo argues. Ah, how refreshing it is to hear that after all this time, he still expects people to believe that Regina had bruised her own son in some desperate attempt to frame him.

"You left him alone in a fast food restaurant—"

"I needed a _moment_ to compose my thoughts I did not _leave_ him! And besides, Regin—”

"Sounds like you have an excuse for everything," David notes, quickly withdrawing the statement when King yells objection. "Mr. Blanchard, how can you accept responsibility for your actions, and feel remorse for how you behaved, if you are also denying so much of what happened?"

Leopold offers some snarky excuse about being remorseful for the "real facts", but David's point has been made.

Still, on redirect he manages to again make his plea for Henry, saying he just wants time in a better environment. with his son, because he doesn't feel he can develop that bond in supervised visitation playroom. And it sounds passionate and logical and understandable, but really doesn't make up for what was said with David.

"We'd like to call Ms. Mills as an adverse witness," George King states.

Regina expects as much. She is sworn in and hopes to god her testimony isn't the thing that sinks them.

"Regina, what is your job title?"

"Assistant to the CEO," she responds, "and lately I've been acting as a public relations director as sorts."

"Sounds busy," King says.

"It can be," she gives.

"Lots of late nights, I'll bet."

"Some…"

"How many nights a month, would you say, is Henry out of your care because of your job?"

 _Which job?_ She thinks to herself bitterly. But they don't know about that job, they can't.

"I usually find a playdate for Henry if I worry about being home late. He enjoys sleeping over with friends."

"About how many times a month does he spend the night at someone else's home?"

"Four to five nights a month."

"And you have never once consulted with your ex husband to find a babysitter you both agree on? As was required per the court's last order in this case?"

"I, uh, haven't needed a sitter. Outside of an emergency situation, where the neighbor will watch Henry…."

“An emergency situation where you left your son all alone, recently, completely unsupervised in your house?”

She’s been prepared for this, David made sure of it.  “If you are referring to the incident we previously went to court for, yes, I made a mistake and left Henry in the care of the neighbor next door when I needed to drive to the pharmacy and Henry was ill. She was gardening outside, however, and that still meant that Henry was unattended. I believe I had been gone about ten minutes.  But yes, a situation like that is a perfect example of an emergency where a neighbor might be call in to watch Henry.”

"But couldn't you have a babysitter on call for those situations too?  Wouldn’t that be easier and more reliable than trying to track down an odd neighbor?"

"I suppose it might be, but—”

"You are aware that you both agreed to pick a babysitter you both can trust, is that right?"

"Yes but—"

"And you haven't done that, have continued to disobey the court order, despite needing a lot of time off from your son."

"I don't need time _off_ from my son, I have a _job_ ," Regina snarks back.

"And a social life, right?"

She purses her lips, reminding herself that David told her they wouldn't dare try to bring that picture of her and Robin into evidence, because it showed nothing at all.

"I socialize on occasion," she agrees.

"Wouldn't it be easier to…" George King makes a dramatic use of air quotes, "err, _socialize..._ if you weren't always trying to figure out who to stick Henry with? If he had a reliable person, like his father, to stay with while you are out, shall we say, "socializing"?"

Her hands are neatly tucked in her lap behind the stand and no one can see how hard they are clenched into fists now. She spots David, poised behind him, calm as ever, giving her a little nod and an encouraging smile.

It's enough to keep her from breaking down on the stand and asking what exactly he is implying with this talk of "socializing". She ignores it, and moves on.

"Leopold has hurt my son. I can't trust him to be alone with him."

"You can't trust him alone with him and you can't trust him to help you find a reliable child care provider. And when was the last time you picked up a phone to attempt to fill in Mr. Blanchard any details about his son's life?"

"We don't talk. There's a restraining order still in place."

"So Leopold cannot communicate with you, the only caretaker of his son. He can't get updates from any reliable babysitter because you've made it so you have all the control over Henry's wellbeing. Isn't that right?"

"Leopold can ask teachers about Henry's progress. Leo can talk to Henry himself at their weekly supervised visits!" she grumbles.

"Ms. Mills, Ms. Mills, calm down. Do you have family support helping you raise Henry?"

She bites back the anger rising in her throat and replies with a short, stiff "no."

"Henry is not in touch with his grandparents?"

"We are estranged," she admits.

"They've never met Henry, right?"

"Right."

"And does Henry see his father's side of the family at all?"

"No." She purses her lips.

"Why not?"

"I… can't trust them. Not after they promised me they would protect Henry, and didn't."

Objections are given, hearsay is argued, and it's all a whirlwind until Regina George King is back in front of her.

"Ms. Mills, do you think it's healthy for your son to have no other family but yourself, to be so isolated from his own flesh and blood?"

Crap.

This isn't going well.

She takes a breath and thanks whatever higher power brought David in her path, because he prepped her for this. "I wish a lot of things for Henry that aren't meant to be. I wish he had a nuclear family, a father and a mother who loved and respected one another. I wish he had a large extended family, full of cousins and aunts and uncles who to spoil him and play with him. But not every child is blessed with a big, perfect family. Henry has the family he has. This situation is healthier for him, because it keeps him safe."

"You've isolated yourself from almost anyone. So I have to ask you, is this about Henry feeling safe, or _you_ feeling safe?" George King looks positively smug delivering the line, and Regina fights the urge to cringe.

It hits her again. The same words whirl through her mind.

This isn't going well.

 

.::.

 

King also asks about her mental health, and Regina has to admit to being diagnosed with anxiety around age 22. And that's a trip isn't it? He asks about those crippling migraines and insinuates she isn't in the proper health to care for her son and she _hates_ it. Hates having to remain calm and take it while this idiot attorney tries to critique her parenting skills.  He tries to get some information in about Regina’s social life, but David objects and the judge shuts it down.  There’s something there, but it clearly isn’t getting in with this judge.  

David assures her it is all going fine, that her testimony didn't hurt them. He's lying, she thinks, but there's no sense in worrying about what she cannot change.

They have Rosa, who testifies how little Leopold used to show up to supervised visitations, about the interactions between father and son, how impersonal it feels.

Regina knows this testimony can't have come easy. Going against the Blanchards isn't to be taken lightly, and with their connections to the government, her job could be at stake. But social workers are idealistic, David says, and not easily dissuaded.

George King attacks her in cross, finally getting her to concede that yes, it's possible that Leo's discomfort during those visitations was due to the venue, instead of just being uncomfortable around his son.

"But I do want to note," Rosa adds, "I supervise many parents, and i'm able to discern the difference between those who are uncomfortable with the supervised aspect of visitation and those who are just uncomfortable around children. I find Mr. Blanchard to be uncomfortable with both."

Mrs. Lucas shows up, all fired up and ready to take down the world. David asks if she has ever had the opportunity to observe Regina as a parent, and Mrs. Lucas says she has.

"I've never seen a more devoted mother," she says, staring straight at Regina. "I'd like to think I was that attentive, I was that caring and giving when my children were Henry's age, but I know I was not. I was a good mother, don't get me wrong. I have met many good mothers over the years. Regina is extraordinary."

Hot tears prick at her eyes. Mrs. Lucas doesn't give praise easily, she is usually sassy and grumpy, and this, well this… is unexpected.

"How so?" David asks.

"Regina doesn't have family support as you know. But she makes up for it all on her own. Every damn minute of spare time she has is all about that boy. She's outside after he sleeps, practicing basketball, so she can run drills with him. Does the same with baseball. The boy is in every goddamned activity imaginable. And that isn't easy for a mother, you know. There's so many different things to remember to pack him for every day. She's got this laminated schedule…" Mrs. Lucas laughs, "it would absolutely shock you to see what she does everyday for that kid. But it's not just a lot of _doing_ things. You can see how they interact, that she's a very loving mom. She takes one look at Henry and seems to know what he's thinking or feeling, exactly what he needs. She always seems to know when he's feeling down and always seems to know what to do to fix it." She turns to the judge and speaks slowly. "Regina Mills is an _extraordinary_ mother."

Cross examination of Mrs. Lucas involves questions regarding how often she babysits for Henry. She's evasive and snarky about it, not lying, but not really answering the questions. She's a tough old broad, one not likely to give a damn about anything. Before she leaves the courtroom, she takes Regina's hand and whispers _I meant every word, dear_.

Archie is another home run. He finds that Henry is well-adjusted, happy, without issues in school or with friends. Henry has made great strides in the last four years, when Archie first started working with him.

"Henry was a shy boy when he first came to me. He had just turned four years old. He had stomach pains whenever it was time to see his father. He had nightmares, which he was too afraid of to even talk about. His mother deserves credit for getting him into therapy immediately. Henry is a well-adjusted boy now. He still sees me for maintenance, but he's happy, well-liked by his peers at school, opinionated, just everything you'd expect to see in an eight year old and more."

"Does Henry speak to you about his father?" David asks.

"Often," Dr. Hopper says with a deep breath. "He's a strong, and he won't ever admit to this, but the boy exhibits all the symptoms of being afraid of him."

"What symptoms?"

"He fidgets. He still says he has stomach aches before meeting him, he worries over normal habits, like chewing loudly, or burping, saying those things that upset his father. The supervised visits seem to make him uncomfortable. He's always got a story of something he did that upset his father."

It hurts, hearing all of this. Henry has long since stopped sharing his feelings about his father with her. He's kept his pain and worry hidden, and it cuts at her to know he feels the need to do this alone.

"Do you think that unsupervised visitation is in Henry's best interest?"

"Not at this time. Henry and his father still need to work on their relationship, so Henry doesn't have this fear of him. But that takes actual bonding, in a controlled environment. I think bringing them together now unsupervised will do more harm than good."

George King's questions focus on asking if Henry could have possibly been influenced by his _mother_ , as if Regina had been scaring Henry about his father. But Archie disagrees, saying he's seen that behavior in the past, and that's not what is happening with Henry.

"We would like to offer Henry as a witness at this time," David says, standing up, "Henry is older now, able to tell a truth from a lie, right from wrong…"

"Yes, yes," Judge White nods her head, "He's an eight year old boy. I want to interview him myself, and I'd like to do so without either of the parties present. I don't want Henry nervous about his mom or dad being upset at him while he talks," She turns to George King, and again to David. "The attorneys both. have a right to observe, to submit questions to me, and have this conversation recorded, unless you'd like to waive this right."

But Walter Midas speaks up now and expresses his desire to be there "for his client's protection."

"Submit your questions to me. I will ask what I deem appropriate. Subject to the rules of discovery, you are entitled to _observe_ this interview. You will not speak. You do not roll your eyes, or make comments about whatever Henry's answers may be. You do not have the right to intimidate him by making any exaggerated movements or sounds during the interview. If any of that happens, I will stop the entire testimony, which neither of you should want. Understand?"

 

.::.

 

Henry doesn't like being in this room, away from his mom.

Tiana — the "judge's clerk" — whatever that means, she's trying to help him have fun. she has episodes of Adventure Time on her ipad, and had a few games they can play — none of its bad or boring but he's not in the mood.

They are playing Uno now with the cartoon in the background, but he keeps thinking about his mom.

She doesn't admit when she's scared, but he can tell. She is scared today, and she is scared of Leo. His mom always holds his hand when he is scared.

She doesn't have anyone to hold her hand now.

"You ok, bud?" Tiana asks, throwing a red seven into the discard pile.

"Yeah," Henry scowls. "I just wish everything could stay the same."

"You don't want to see your dad more?"

"No," Henry sighs, "and he doesn't really want to see me, either."

Before Tiana can argue, Judge White steps in, ushering in the court reporter.

"Henry, I'm going to ask you some questions right here, if that's okay."

"Sure, that's fine." Henry smiles at the Judge, and tries not to be nervous. She seems nice. She isn't as scary as he had pictured judges being, all stern and old and angry. She is young and kind of pretty, and she just _feels_ nice.

Judge White grabs a chair and brings it behind her desk, next to her own chair. "We can talk here. There's a court reporter, she is going to type everything we say, okay?"

Henry nods.

Judge white makes a motion towards the door, and Tiana steps out. A moment later, Henry sees David walking in.

"Hi, David!" Henry cries out. Davis smiles sheepishly and waves.

That _other_ lawyer is behind him. He doesn't like that guy. Henry loses a bit of that courage and fights the urge to shrink away.

"Henry these gentlemen are just going to sit in the corner. They are just here to listen, okay? It's best we ignore them."

Henry nods.

"Henry," Judge White pushes a chair from behind her desk, "come sit over here." She looks very nice, like one of his teachers. Easy to talk to. He sits next to her and smiles.

"Henry do you know the difference between a truth and a lie?"

"Yes."

"You have to promise that everything you say is the truth, okay?

"I will. I only will tell the truth."

"Ok, let's get started."

At first she asks easy questions not even about his mom or dad. When is his birthday? What grade he's in? What is his favorite subject of school? What is his favorite sport to play? Things that are fun to talk about.

"Henry who helps you with homework?"

"Mom. Or Mrs. Lucas. Or Aunt Mal if she's around and it's math. She has a lot of tricks to help me understand math…"

"Who is Aunt Mal?"

"She's mom's best friend."

Judge White smiles, like she sounds happy about that. Henry wonders if she also is worried about his mom, and how few people there are in the world to help her. But the Judge probably doesn't know that everyone who gets close to his mom seems to hurt her. Police officers, dad's family, that red-headed coworker mom used to like….the fewer people who get involved in their lives, the better. And he can help his mom, people don't understand that he can do as good of a job as any adult can in that department.

"Does your dad ever help you with homework on Tuesday nights?"

 _Yeah right. "_ No, I don't do homework during the visit."

"What do you do on Tuesdays?"

"Sometimes we watch a movie. Sometimes we play videogames and order pizza." He shrugs. "We don't really do much together. I don't think my dad really likes our visits."

"Why do you say that?" Judge White cocks her head, sounding so sympathetic, as if she thinks he's hurt over this, and no, no he's not.

"I don't know. He doesn't talk to me much, and sometimes he's just on his phone a lot."

"Do you think maybe being in that room with Ms Rosemary watching makes him nervous or uncomfortable?" Judge White asks, softly.

Henry shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe."

"Ok Henry. you live with your mom at her house. What's the best thing about living with your mom?"

" _Everything."_  Henry thinks about _not_ living there, and tears are starting to come, but he's not a baby, he won't let himself cry. "I love living with mom. It's a really nice house. I have my own bedroom and bathroom and a nice backyard. And my mom is the best mom in the world."

"Oh?" Judge White smiles at that. "What makes her the best mom?"

"If I'm sick, she makes me breakfast in bed and moves the tv to my room. Even though my birthday is in April, she makes me pumpkin pie because it's my favorite." Judge White laughs at that. "She goes to my games even if she's been working all day, even if she's sick. If I'm feeling sad she always knows how to cheer me up. She is really funny and tells good jokes. All my friends think she's the best mom, too. She plays games with us and takes us to _Six Flags_ and the fair… and other people's moms, they don't let them try new things. If I want to try a new sport, mom always says yes, as long as I promise to try my best and not to quit."

"What about if you do something wrong? Does your mom punish you?"

He thinks about when he leaves his dirty socks in the bathroom, or when he ran off at the mall without telling her, and she couldn't find him. "Yes."

"How does she punish you?"

"I lose video game time or we don't go for ice cream when we would have. And if I don't do all my chores and homework then I go to bed a half hour earlier."

"Alright. Let's talk about your dad."

Henry frowns, he can't help it. "Henry do you know why you are here today?"

"My dad wants more time with me. And time without Miss Rosa being there." Henry looks at his hands, as he flexes and unflexes his fingers.

"That's right. And what do you think about that?"

 _I wish I never had to see him again at all_ he thinks, but will not say. He should say that the time they have is fine, but he looks at his father's attorney, and loses his nerve. He doesn't want to answer.

"Henry, don't worry about them, talk to me." She places a hand on his shoulder.

"Sometimes dad gets scary," Henry mutters. "But if you tell my mom I said that, she'll get worried and if you tell my dad, he'll get mad!"

"It's okay, Henry, you can be honest."

"I don't want to see dad without Miss Rosa being there." Henry admits, looking down. "I just… I don't know him very well. And he gets angry easily."

"When is the last time he got angry at you?"

Henry frowns. He knows the last time, but…

"He came to our house a few weeks ago and was pounding on the door asking for me to open it. When mom opened the door he was yelling. Mom told me to go upstairs and shut the door tight."

Now it's Judge White's turn to be surprised. His dad's attorney looks very surprised too. Henry looks at David, who gives him a slight nod. He hopes it is okay to tell the Judge this, but he _did_ promise to tell the truth.

"What happened then?" Judge White asks.

"I don't know. Mom went upstairs after he left and said everything was fine. But he _was_ yelling."

He wonders if they believe him, and it crosses his mind that Robin could have told them this himself, had he bothered to show up.

"Okay… and what about before that?"

"Oh! after that actually, at Miss Rosa's? We were eating pizza and I was messy. The cheese fell off onto the floor. Dad said a curse word really loud. But he didn't say anything else."

"Did you think he was going to hurt you?" Judge White asks.

"No, not the time with the pizza." Henry answers honestly. "But that time when he came to our house, I was afraid he might."

"But he didn't try to go upstairs to see you, right?"

"Right." Henry shakes his head.

"And your mom didn't call the police?"

"No. She was there with Robin."

"Who is Robin?"

"He works with her. They were having a meeting," Henry explains, and it's true, that's what his mom said they were doing when Henry called. He doesn't have to mention the fact that they weren't there the whole time, does he? That's not lying, right?

"Ok. Henry has your father ever threatened to hurt you?"

"No," Henry admits. "I don't remember that anyway."

"Now I understand your mom works a lot. Where do you go when she works, now that it's summer?"

"I have camp. I'm there until mom picks me up. Or sometimes I go to my friends house after camp. My best friend Nathan."

"It sounds like you spend a lot of time with Nathan, and your other friends," Judge White notes.

"Yeah, I do. Nathan, Teddy, and Marcus. Those are my best friends."

"And I heard about all the activities you are in for school. There are so many! That seems like a lot of work. Would you rather do less of them?"

"No, I like them all!" Henry is defiant on this point, everyone always asks this, even his mom. But they don't understand. "We all get together as a team and work together. I like being on a team, everyone is like..."

Judge White looks at him like she understands and she adds "...like a family?"

"Yeah, I guess," Henry says, shrugging.

"Thanks Henry." Judge White says, "you've been very brave, and very honest."

He smiles back at the Judge. She's a nice lady. He hopes she's smart enough to do the right thing.

 

.::.

 

When David return she it's with a smile on his face, and Henry in tow. "He did really well," he whispers to Regina. "He brought up that day when Leo came to the house? The thing you said you didn't want to mention because Leo would just deny it, and it would bring up the last time you left Henry alone?"

If he brought it up, it must mean that day sticks out, that he still thinks about it, worries about it….

_Shit._

David squeezes her hand. "Look at me," he says slowly. She forces herself to obey. "Regina, that was not your fault, okay?"

She swallows thickly and forces her heart back down to her chest. She takes a deep breath, squeezing his hand back, tightly. And then she puts on a weak smile and says, "How do you always know what I'm thinking? Are you a lawyer, or a mind reader?"

He winks at her and reminds her, "A good lawyer is both."

Before she can think to say a word, the bailiff interrupts.

"All rise!"

Judge White returns to the stand for closing arguments.

David really shines in closing. He's respectful but firm in his argument. He does not twist facts in an obvious way, but he's very persuasive. He reminds Judge White that the Petition actually seeks full custody, which is absurd considering what a great mother Regina has been and how little Henry knows his father. He cuts at the argument, attacks the credibility of the witnesses, and reminds everyone that Leo damn near lost his temper in open court. If he is almost at that level in public, what will happen in private?

George King goes next. He argues that it is in a child's best interest to have family, and argues Regina has isolated Henry from the world, so he only has her to rely on. He argues she does this on purpose, scares her child from anyone who is not her so she always feels wanted and does not worry about being abandoned. It makes her blood boil. He argues that Leopold has changed, and all incidents are years behind him and should not be considered by the Court, that Leo has never threatened Henry, and that supervised visitations are awkward and harm the father-son relationship.

Judge White takes furious notes during both closings. Regina has no idea whether that is a good or bad thing.

"Thank you both. This is a complicated matter.. I have several factors to consider, and as I have a written opinion to draft, I am going to take a few days to deliberate. You should have my decision within a week. I do want to say, you both have a wonderful, loving, well-adjusted son, and that isn't easy given these circumstances. So you should be congratulated on that." She looks directly at Regina when she says this, though she does not specify she is speaking to her alone. "I also want to reiterate that the custody arrangement specifies that a babysitter for Henry be mutually agreed upon and a regular caretaker should be agreed upon. If I were you two," she looks towards Leopold, "I would pick my battles carefully. I don't want you back in court because you cannot agree on a caretaker. This should be easy, as he already seems to have a decent caretaker in Mrs. Lucas. Have a good rest of the day, court is dismissed."

And just like that, the day is over.

And the decision of Henry's custody lays in the hands of someone who thinks coming to a decision with Leo should be "easy".

Leo and his attorneys are leaving, laughing as if they won some sort of victory. The man doesn't even bother to say goodbye to Henry. But she's not surprised. This isn't about Henry anyway.

"Why does he even want custody? " she whispers as Henry runs over to the trash bin to throw away a wrapper from a granola bar the Judge's clerk must have given him. She's not expecting an answer, just venting.

David, however, must be thinking the same thing. "I'm not sure. The stigma of supervised visitation could get to him. Or maybe it's just pure revenge on you. But there does seem be a reason. I just wish I knew what it was."

"How'd it go, do you think?" Regina asks softly. She already knows it wasn't a homerun, David would have told her immediately if he thought their chance of victory were one hundred percent. But still, maybe it's not as bad as she is imagining.

David shrugs. "As well as can be expected, I think. Obviously you aren't losing custody, George King basically gave up that argument in closing and focused on more visitation for Leo. Standards for supervised visitation are high, and there has not been another incident where there's been violence or threats of violence…"

She nods. David prepared her, she knew this was coming. But hearing him say it after the hearing makes it all more terrible.

"But Henry did a great job. And his comfort is also important, and he made it clear he is not comfortable seeing his father unsupervised. But there's no sense over analyzing this day, we just have to wait for the order, alright?"

Regina nods.

David looks at his watch and grimaces. "I have a client meeting to get to across town. Go get the kid a treat," he says, nodding back at Henry. "And yourself something, too, okay? It's been a long day."

 

.::.

 

There's no David buffer, and that's a shame, because Regina is craving a moment to decompress without being under Henry's watchful eye. She doesn't have the luxury of giving herself a moment to fret, to take a few deep long breaths and make peace with the fact this custody determination is hanging in the balance, and she has to live through the weekend without knowing whether her son is going to be subjected to a dangerous man on a weekly basis.

"Mom? I have to go to the bathroom."

She nods. "Let's go." But he frowns at her and shakes his head, insists he can go himself.

It's a courthouse bathroom, with officers and attorneys all around, and she supposes it's alright, just this time. She looks at the bathroom, just down the hall from where she is, and gives in.

"I'll be here waiting," she says, pointing towards the bench. Henry runs off, and thank god. she just needs a moment to sit, just has to breathe...

She's sits down, eyes focused on her lap, slowly counting the seconds between deep gulps of air, when she hears a familiar voice.

"REGINA!" She looks up just in time to catch Roland, who has jumped into her arms. In one of his chubby fists is a folded up, slightly crumbled piece of paper.

What the hell?

She looks around and finds a very sheepish Robin standing there, trying to look as innocent as possible. But there's nothing innocent about him because—

"I told you not to come," she says softly. and then "You _promised_ to stay away."

"I promised to stay away from that _courtroom."_ Robin reminds. "I didn't say anything about the court _house_ in general."

She shakes her head. She should be upset at him for disobeying her wishes and weaseling his way out of a promise… but the thing of it is she really really needs someone right now. She's anxious and scared and needs some time to process her own nerves before soothing Henry. They need a buffer.

And, well, he's the absolute best person for this.

Roland is full of pep, pulling at her shirt excitedly. "Thank you for the monkey, I love it!"

She chuckles and presses her nose to his. It's… maybe too intimate, but he's a young boy in her arms and it brings out all these maternal instincts she can't seem to put away. "I'm glad you liked it, I told your daddy it was special."

"He told me! I named him Dobby!"

"Oh from Harry Potter?" she asks. He nods vigorously as she places him back down on the ground.

"Oh, Regina, I drew you a card! But where is Henry? It's for him too!"

"Henry's in the bathroom, Roland. He'll be back soon. Let's save it for him, okay?" She keeps her voice light and sunny, despite feeling the exact opposite

Roland nods. He takes a toy car out of his pocket and rolls it alongside the bench she had just been sitting on. Oh, to be young and so easily distracted.

Robin lays a hand on her shoulder. "How'd it go?"

Regina shrugs. "No decision yet unfortunately. But David said it went as well as could be expected, so—"

"I didn't ask for the lawyer's opinion on how it went, I asked for yours. How are _you_ holding up?"

"I'm fine." She puts on a forced smile as some weak sign of proof, but Robin only shakes his head.

"I'm not asking to be polite," he says, that hand on her shoulder skates down her back in a light, soothing swipe. "I'm _really_ asking."

She exhales slowly, and stops pretending for a second — just a second. "It was...difficult. Worse than I expected but not as bad as I feared. They insinuated that I'm isolating Henry because I have trust issues, but then they also said I trust his friends family too easily since I leave him in their care too much."

She looks down at Roland's card, intending just to use it to gather her thoughts. But she finds it truly does brighten her mood.

It's messy marker scratches on yellow construction paper, and she's never seen anything cuter.

"To Regina and Henry," is written in block letters of various sizes. There is a heart at the bottom with Roland's name on it. The card has flowers, some sort of dog, and two figures together holding hands, with some sort of structure on the side.

Roland catches her looking at it and instantly drops his toy car, pointing to it with pride. "That's Henry and me and that's the water slide. Remember? At the picnic?"

She smiles and nods. "I remember, Roland."

"Daddy says you might be sick so I wanted to make you a get well soon card," he explains

Regina looks up at Robin, puzzled and searching for an explanation.

Robin scratches his head. "I said you might need some cheering up, and he asked why, and I told him you might be having a day where you just don't feel good."

Regina smiles at him. "I know I told you not to come," she repeats, frowns, and chases away the hint of anxiety bubbling inside her, "but I'm really glad you showed up anyway." She smooths a piece of her hair behind her ear, suddenly feeling very young, as if this entire conversation is transporting her to a simpler, lighter time….

"Yeah?" Robin's face splits into a smile that lights up the courthouse. His hand is settled on the small of her back now, and it feels warm and safe. And nice, so nice.

"Yeah," she breathes, nodding a little. "Truly…"

She lets herself focus on his hands on her back, his breath, whisping against her cheek. It's soothing, but makes of the back of her neck prickly with a sort of nervous energy.

He came all the way to court — with his son— for _her._ He took the day off workforce her. No one does that, no one except for Mal, and she thought she was okay with that, with not needing someone like this but...

"Will you fucking look at this? She's practically making out in the goddamned courthouse, like a little whore!"

It's Leo's voice that has her jumping out of Robins embrace. And oh, if he only knew what kind of whore she was.

She turns around to face him, finding him red faced and snarling. And there's this inner sense of pleasure she gets from his pain. She tries not to admit that, it's petty, so petty, but enjoying his suffering is a little treat she's earned after this day. And it seems he's unable to hold back, an attorney has an arm around his elbow, urging him back, but Leo presses forward, pointing and lunging at her.

"You may have fooled that judge, Regina, but you did _not_ fool me, I see you for what you are. A manipulative, cunning little bitch. How much money, does he have, how much—"

Leopold's outburst continues until the second lawyer intervenes, practically tackling him and covering his mouth.

"Watch that temper, Leo," Regina chides, unable to keep the victorious tone out of her voice. "You're not setting a good example for your son. And…" she looks over to a reporter she recognizes from the Times. "The press is here."

"He's had a long day, he misses his son," George King exclaims, walking the man away. And he probably says this for the benefit of courthouse gossip as well as the sole reporter. Regina can only hope a bailiff or some staff member hears this and informs Judge White of what had happened. God, his temper getting the best of him yet again in open court would be wonderful.

Now she wishes she had told Robin to show up at the courtroom.

Except, no. Because it appears Leopold isn't the only one with a temper. Robin's whole body has gone rigid and stiff, his jaw is locked, and his eyes could very shoot flames across the room. She watches the way his clenched fists shake at his sides. He's trying to control himself, but he desperately wants to react. Physically. Regina should know, she's well versed in the warning symptoms of a violent outburst.

"Hey," Regina calls out to him, putting a hand on his cheek and tilting him so his focus is off her ex husband and on her. "Hey, it's alright."

Robin breaks eye contact with Leo, takes a deep breath and nods. "It's not alright," he says slowly, "he...he can't say those things to you and think he can just get away with it —"

"Sure he can," she soothes. "He does whatever he wants. That's why—" she almost says _that's why I have to leave,_ but that's a secret, she's never to talk about that. Yet she almost shared it with him, so easily. Just like the first night when she told him her real name. What is it about this man that has her confessing things she's supposed to keep hidden?

He's staring at her, and she realizes she never finished her train of thought, so she adds, "that's why my life is a mess."

"Your life's not a mess," Robin murmurs, fingers ghosting over her palms in a way that makes her shiver. She looks down and takes a heavy sigh, because he's wrong. Her life _is_ a mess. "Hey, look at me," he cups her chin with his free hand and eases it upwards. "your life is _not_ a mess. You are raising a great boy, you have a successful career, two, neither of which any should judge you for, mind you. You're smart, talented and brave. There may be messy circumstances, but your life isn't a mess."

He's wrong, but his voice is so soothing, so wonderful.

"What's _he_ doing here?" Henry's voice interrupts her thoughts. He sounds extremely annoyed, which is odd because he seemed to like Robin quite a bit the last time they met.

"Henry!" she scolds, "Robin came to check in on us, it was very nice of him. "

"Well, when we showed up we thought maybe you'd like some lunch, but then you seemed to be in there for quite awhile so Roland and I caved and ate some hot dogs on the courthouse steps. Did you two eat?"

"No," Henry says, still short tempered. "We're going to eat now, right mom?"

"Henry you know that we ate at the courthouse cafeteria," Regina says, frowning him "I uh…was going to take him to Treasure Island for ice cream."

Roland's eyes go wide. "Treasure Island? _Ice cream?_ Daddy can _we_ go?!"

She should have known better than to say the words _Treasure Island_ in front of a child Roland's age. The place is a glorified outdoor Chuck-E-Cheese, with better food. It is right on the lake, and there's a Caribbean theme that's terribly corny, but kids soak it up. The playground has a ship wreck "under the sea" theme that kids Roland's age love.

Henry loves the obstacle course, and, competitive soul that he is, often challenges other kids to a race. He loves that place. It's an escape for him.

"Oh Roland, I don't know. I think Henry and his mom would like some time to themselves. We can go another time."

A glance up at Robin makes it clear that he would love to go, but doesn't want to intrude. From the look on _Henry's_ face she's absolutely certain he does _not_ want the company. And she should give him what he wants, on today of all days, right? But she also can't reward rudeness, now can she? And god, she really wants Robin to lean on for a little while longer.

"Don't be silly," she says, "you two are welcome."

Henry groans loudly, and she throws him a scolding look. He stalks a few feet away with his hands crossed. He's been so good all day, but he is only eight, and it's been a long day. And now, he's close to a temper tantrum.

Robin leans in close, whispers in her ear, "You sure? Henry doesn't seem excited to have our company, and that's okay. We can go another time, I'll take Roland to a McDonald's playhouse, he won't know the difference."

She finds herself shaking her head. "I just really need some time… to… just be. I know Henry will want to talk about this day if we go out together and I... I can't right now, Robin. Please come. I've no idea why he's acting this way, but if I can't snap him out of it on the way there, I'll call and let you know."

He looks unsure, but then she adds, "Please, I didn't expect to feel this way, but…"

Robin nods. "I'll be there." He squeezes her hand, collects Roland, and walks out of the courthouse.

Regina takes a deep breath and prepares herself to deal with a very sullen little boy.

 

.::.

 

The second they are in the car, Henry grumbles, "Why does _he_ have to come?"

She puts on a stern face and turns around for the driver's seat to face him.

"Henry, it's been a long day, and you were very well behaved all day. You made me so proud, until just a few minutes ago. And if you think that going through a day at court entitles you to act rude and throw a temper tantrum, you are sorely mistaken."

"I didn't have a _temper tantrum!"_ Henry exclaims, disproving his own point when he throws a punch at the seat next to him. "I just don't like Robin."

It breaks her heart to hear her say that, and that's… pretty telling, isn't it? She cares too much for him, too fast.

"Why don't you like him, Henry? Because at the picnic you seemed to get along."

Henry puffs out an exasperated breath of air. "He acts like he wants to help, but he doesn't. And we don't need him, mom. We don't need someone who acts like he cares when he doesn't."

"Why do you think he doesn't care?"

Henry sighs and throws back his head. "He was too scared to go to court. And he could have helped, mom! The judge asked me questions and I told her about the day dad was pounding on the door trying to get in, and she didn't know anything about it. Robin could have come to court and told everyone about that day, but he's just like everyone else who's too scared to help us, he didn't show up. So we don't need him."

He heart aches with the realization that her little boy had grown too fast. Not only does he realize they need _help,_ not only does he appreciate the severity of their situation, but he also recognizes most people do nothing to help. He's already ruling people out based on whether they can stand up to Leopold. He's too young to be so cynical, and it kills her.

But as awful as all of this is, he's also wrong — very much so.

"Henry, do you why Aunt Mal didn't come today?"

"Because you told her it wasn't safe. Aunt Mal says _he_ could really hurt her, because he knows a secret. I don't want to know anymore people who are too scared to fight him with us. I don't care if Robin has a good reason. He didn't help and I don't like him." He crosses his arms and squares his eyebrows, looking like he's about to have another fit. He's steaming, she realizes, can feel the anger radiating off of him.

She takes a big breath and lets it out slowly, looking Henry square into the eye. "What if the reason he didn't come today was that I made him _promise_ not to?" she asks. She watches Henry's scowl fade just a bit, his eyes go curious. "Because that's what I did. I made him promise to not go inside the court _room._ And he showed up at the court _house_ anyway, just to make sure we were alright."

She loses his eyes for a second as he drops them down to stare at his lap instead. She lets him process everything for a bit and waits. After a few beats, Henry mutter a half-apologetic, half-surprised _Oh._

"He really wanted to come, Henry. But I don't want anyone to get hurt, and I didn't think it would help too much, anyway."

Henry's nose scrunches up, as if he's contemplating something. And then he blurts it out. "Is Robin your boyfriend?"

Shit.

"No," she answers too quickly, feeling her face flush. "Um, why- why do you ask that?"

"Because he looks at you all funny. And all the time. And he was holding your hand today, and you were holding hands at the picnic, and you're always touching him and you hug him. You don't hug any of my friends dads, or with Marco, or—"

"Well we are better friends I think than all those people," she explains, "and some adults like hugs. Robin is one of those people. Not everyone likes hugging though."

"You like hugs," Henry mumbles.

"Mhm, mostly from you," she responds, smiling at him fondly. Her neck is craned from looking back at him in the car for this long, but it's good. They needed to have this talk.

"Well I think Robin likes you. _Like_ likes you." Henry says pointedly.

"Because of the hugs?" Regina asks with a smile.

"Because of _everything_ ," Henry corrects. He pauses and frowns, his voice goes soft and unsure. "Do you like him?"

"Yes, but not like that. Just like a friend, okay?" She hates lying to her son. But her feelings don't matter. They won't date. They can't. And explaining why they can't date is much more complicated than telling a little white lie.

Henry nods his head. "Good. And mom?"

"Hmm?" she asks, hand already on the gear shift, reading to get out of this courthouse parking lot and start driving to a happier place.

"I don't hate Robin," he says, almost begrudgingly.

"I'm glad. Thank you, Henry."

 

.::.

 

Treasure Island is busy today, and it's not a surprise. Despite the odd time of day, it's beautiful out this Friday afternoon, and the infamous ice cream and outdoor play area is a draw for many families.

Robin and Roland have already arrived, and Robin spots them as they walk to the outside eating area, raising his arm and giving a little wave. Roland is poured over a dessert menu, laminated and bright with pictures of sundaes and pies.

"There's so much stuff!" he exclaims, as Regina approaches. "I don't know what to get."

Henry wanders over him and leans over his shoulder. "I can help. Mom takes me here a lot."

Robin shoots Regina a look, a raised eyebrow that says _you spoil him._ It's very _un-_ Regina, this sugary playground full of zero nutritional or academic value, and she finds the need to clarify. "Not _a lot,_ just special occasions when we are celebrating."

Henry looks at Roland with a knowing smile. "We celebrate _a lot."_

Robin laughs, and Regina's cheeks heat as she laughs too. Henry does tend to pick this place when he gets a good report card, or when he comes home with an A on a test, or when he is rewarded for going above and beyond in baseball or basketball… _Shit_. They do go a lot.

"Do you like chocolate?" Henry asks Roland, who nods eagerly. "I like the brownie sundae. Or the peanut butter s'mores sundae." Henry points at picture of each sundae and Roland's eyes go adorably wide. "They are both _really_ good. The peanut butter one has marshmallow sauce, and the brownie comes with a big brownie!"

Roland's eyes go wide, "I want the brownie sundae!"

"Alright, then," Robin smiles. "I'm assuming someone will have no room for dinner…"

"I'll have the peanut butter s'mores, mom!"

"Okay." He's all smiles and pep, despite the day they've had. And all that tension between him and Robin is gone, melted away into the heat of the afternoon sun. "Why don't you go play, show Roland around? I'll call you over when it gets here."

He could roll his eyes at being asked to escort around a near-five-year-old to a rather intense set of obstacle courses to explore, but he doesn't seem to mind, nodding his head and urging Roland out of his seat. "Okay Roland — lets go!"

They make a beeline for the soft sand of the little "beach" that houses the giant outdoor playground. Regina chuckles as she watches Henry running full speed towards the tire swing...but then curiously, he spins around and starts running back towards them, as if he forgot something. She's trying to place exactly what could be missing when he arrives, a bit out of breath.

"Sorry Robin!" he blurts out between panted breaths. "I shouldn't have been mean before."

Robin is completely taken aback, bites his lip in a surprised smile. "S'okay. You had a rough day, yeah? I'm sorry I crashed your time with your mum, but thank you for being kind to Roland. He looks up to you."

"I like him," Henry says quickly, "he's funny." He pauses, takes a moment to look at his mom and then shrugs. "I'm going to go catch up to Roland now. Thanks mom!"

And then he's off at top speed, exactly the way he barreled into the conversation.

Regina watches her son scamper off, shouting excitedly as he swan dives onto a tire swing. She sees Robin, his neck craned to watch him with her.

"He's a good kid," he says with a smile, turning back to her, "I'm going to have to ask you for tips on how to raise a boy with manners like that."

She shrugs. "I didn't even tell him to do that.." she admits, looking at her boy with fondness. "No idea how he ended up this way. I'm just lucky, I guess."

Robin mutters a _I seriously doubt that_ into his menu. But he doesn't understand just how perfect her son is. It's what has kept her together all these years, what has made her so sure he's in good hands with her. He's just...as close to perfect as a child is capable of being.

She continues to take her eyes over the menu (god knows why, she's not ordering anything) and tries not to spend her time staring _too_ much at the delicious treats being served around her, or the eye candy in front of her.

 

.::.

 

He's glad he did this.

Glad he called off work, dragged his son out to a crowded courthouse in the middle of the day, and kept him entertained while he waited for a woman he had no idea would even _want_ to see him.

He's glad he took the risk because she had looked like exhausted, like she was trying hard to keep it together at that courthouse. She had looked so genuinely relieved to see him that he felt useful, wanted, maybe even needed. That's a something he's missed since Marian. Something he finds he chases. He's needed by Roland, and he's helpful to many of his friends, but he never feels like a missing piece of a puzzle, never feels like he can contribute anything special or unique when they are in crisis. But he does feel that way with Regina. There's some sort of special understanding, a connection… whatever it is, it has him feeling complete, and maybe a little less lost.

He likes seeing the way she is gradually brightening, how her smile seems a little less forced every moment. He can feel the tension melting off of her here in the orange glow of the sun, and it's absolutely mesmerizing.

He catches her glancing at the menu, just a few fleeting moments, before focusing her attention back to the children's play area. She's still wrecked from today's nightmare, still trying to calm herself.

"So," he says, attempting to draw her out of whatever thoughts are dancing in her head, "what are _you_ going to order?".

It seems to work a bit. She laughs and rolls her eyes as she nods toward the colorful drink menu. " I can't have any of those cocktails, as I'm driving, and you know my rule on _that…_ plus I haven't slept in three days and god, if I touch alcohol I'm afraid I may pass out for the rest of the night. So I think I'll pass."

"Oh, I wasn't thinking about cocktails," Robin says plainly, looking at the dessert menu with a little smirk.

"I already ate lunch. And it's not yet time for dinner. And I _don't_ do desserts."

"Hmm…." Robin hums, "but I keep seeing you eyeing that kid's banana split…" he says, his eyes darting to the table next to them. "Come on now, you've had a hard day. I can't in good conscience encourage you to drink, but I can pester you to take in a bit of sugar. You've earned it."

She's considering it, he can tell by the way that thin smile fails to disappear from her face. "I shouldn't… I won't just burn it off like Henry does."

She's absurd. He's seen every inch of her naked, and he'd imagine even if that sundae added ten pounds, she'd still be petite and beautiful.

"Please, there's no way one giant sundae will ruin your perfect little figure."

That thin smile cracks open a little wider, and she puts elbows on the table, rests her cheek in her hand. "I don't really like ice cream."

"Now don't make me call Henry over and ask him for his opinion on that," he warns. It makes her laugh.

"I sometimes get the creme brûlée frozen greek yogurt," she admits.

He looks at it with a frown. It does _not_ sound like a treat. "How in the hell is creme brûlée made without sugar?" he asks.

"The same way diet coke is, with the power of artificial sweeteners," she answers.

"No, you had a hard day and you deserve a _treat._ Not this dessert of lies. What else appeals to you?"

She smiles guiltily and admits, "I get the apple pie sundae sometimes."

It's frozen yogurt and cinnamon apples with graham cracker crumbs, but it's still on the _Lighter Side_ portion of the menu, and he certainly doesn't want her to be eating some calorie controlled, tiny portioned dessert today.

"Hmm…" he looks for the most ridiculous thing he can on the menu. It's not hard to find. "What about this?" he asks, pointing towards the bottom of the menu.

" _Carnival in a cup_?"she asks.

"Salted caramel, vanilla, and peanut butter ice cream, caramel popcorn, roasted peanuts, bits of fried dough drizzled with marshmallow and hot fudge topping… Now _that_ sounds like a real dessert." Robin exclaims.

"It sounds like a heart attack," she responds.

"It sounds like _fun."_ He corrects. "Of course you won't get it, I'll get it for myself, and you'll just watch me devour it all by my lonesome…" He can tell she really wants it, that something is holding her back. Pride maybe, sheer willpower, stubbornness… but they can go toe-to-toe on that one, because he is stubborn too.

"Fine. We'll split one," she says, raising her eyebrows. "Since you want it so badly."

When the waiter comes to order, Regina is quick to order kid-sized portions of the sundaes for Henry and Roland, along with glasses of water. And Robin somehow is able to sneak in a hot fudge sundae for himself, because he's certainly not sharing with her. He wants her to eat it all, if she wants.

"I think you've earned a whole sundae to yourself," he shrugs. "worse comes to worse we waste a bit of ice cream."

She tries to look annoyed, but he can tell there's a part of her that's pleased, he can tell in the way her lips curve upwards, in that sparkle in her eyes as she tries to look at him scoldingly. And then she breathes out a little "thank you."

"So…" he starts, when the waiter leaves, "do you want to talk about it?" He's not sure what she needs, venting or distracting, but he's determined to give her either.

"No…" she sighs, shoulders sagging. "I'm sorry you had to see that before, in the courthouse."

He thinks of Leo's menacing stare, the angry way he bit those ugly words out, and then shakes his head. "I'm sorry you had to _live_ with that."

"It wasn't all like that," Regina assures. "Most of the time he would just ignore me, or try to control me. We just had a few bad moments, but the few bad moment were _very_ bad. Interactions got worse when I left him. He takes it personal. Now he just tries to… intimidate me. But I'm not the girl I was when we married. I don't scare easily. I think that makes him more upset."

"Good." Robin smiles. "I hope it bothers the hell out of him, and you know, that subtle way you pressed his buttons a bit… that was… very satisfying for me to see."

She smiles back, this elusive small little thing, and he feels proud that he can draw it out of her, even on a day like today.

 

.:R&R:.

 

Regina's cheeks heat at the reminder of the courthouse confrontation, how she called out to Leo, mocking him about his temper and warning him about the press (she should not have done that, now he will probably silence that journalist, and news of a Blanchard outburst could very well make courtroom paper).

"Couldn't help myself," she shrugs. "I get tired of playing the bigger person. I'm secretly very petty. And… vengeful. I'd dump him in a vat of acid if I could."

He laughs, as if he doesn't quite believe her. And we'll, she can understand why. From his perspective, she has been playing this quite timidly.

"I have to behave or I could lose Henry," she explains. And she told him she didn't want to talk about it but she has changed her mind. "It kills me, always having to behave while he can act like an ass all the time. But, I'll win in the end."

He looks at her with intense curiosity, and well, that's right. He probably has no idea what she's planning. Maybe he thinks she's hiring a hitman to dump him in a vat of acid (oh, if only…).

She itches to tell Robin everything. She will, she thinks. But not here. Not now. She needs time to tell him and… time to be emotional and vulnerable without Henry around.

So she takes a sigh, and moves on to the issue if he moment. "I'm going to lose this custody battle," The words are thick and weighted in her mouth, hurt her throat to say.

"Bullshit," Robin answer, "I can't imagine any judge in their right mind could take such a well-adjusted son from his mother for some arsehole—"

"Oh, I don't think I'll lose custody _entirely_. But I know David and he prepared me to lose the supervised visitation. So Leo will most likely get unsupervised visitation, maybe even joint custody…" she shudders. "Henry's older, and he knows what his dad is and isn't allowed to do. I don't think Leopold would risk anything, but he does have a temper. And if anything happens to Henry…" she sighs. "I don't think I'll be able to forgive myself."

"Not your fault." he reminds her emphatically, because she acts as if everything bad that happens to her or her son is somehow the result of some karmic retribution for her old sins, and it's ridiculous.

"No," she says as if she doesn't quite believe it, "but I wasn't so innocent, either. I married him when I was 12 weeks pregnant with Henry, you know. I said if I made it through the first trimester I'd do it. I owed it to my son to give him his best shot. And he seemed like this perfectly nice man who wanted to help. And I knew, of course I knew, he thought I was, well… pretty. I knew he'd want to sleep with me. I figured I could sleep with a nice, caring man who was willing to raise my son. I figured I could learn to love him, if I tried...if I tried for Henry."

He looks at her without judgment, all warm and loving and concerned, and sighs. "You were young and pregnant, and alone. It makes sense."

And then she feels the last of her resolve crumble. She wants to tell him, wants to talk about it.

"Henry's real father, Daniel? His parents hated me. They were highly religious Mormons.. I wasn't considered a good match for their pious son." She laughs bitterly, looking at Henry playing in the distance. "We decided to wait until twelve weeks to tell them. But he died before then. And… I tried, but… they were so cold to me at the funeral…"

She doesn't expect tears to come. She can't quite bite them all back, so she lets them fall, then shakes her head, as if ridding the last remnants of memory from her mind. "I told my father, though. I just couldn't keep it from him, I was scared, and I just wanted to know he'd support me. But he went right to my mother… Mother hated Daniel, so this added to her frustration. She said I would be welcome home again, that they would not financially cut me off, as long as I got an abortion. My dad just kept saying he was so _disappointed_ he was. But he stood by her threat, he cut me off, told me it was for my own good…it's the last conversation I had with my father. After Daniel died I vowed I'd never rely on people who didn't respect him and his memory."

"That's brave," he says, trying to lift her up apparently, but no, no it's not brave. She was a coward from the moment Daniel died.

"I made a mess of things. I relied on a man who cared nothing for Daniel but put on quite a convincing act to hide that fact. And then after I was fooled with Leo...well...I became even more distrusting. And that attitude probably cost Henry supervised visitation," she mutters. "I don't have a 'support system'. I've isolated myself. I look like I am overly paranoid of people interacting with him. Leo's lawyers argued it was unhealthy and I saw— I _saw_ the look on the Judge's face. She agreed."

He frowns and shakes his head in disbelief. "I seriously doubt that," he argues. "I've met Henry, and presumably so did this judge. He's not lacking in the socialization department. He doesn't behave like a child who is timid or afraid to meet new people. I'm sure the judge will pick up on that. Henry is a well-adjusted, healthy and happy boy. Look at him."

He motion to the child playground, to where Henry is excitedly gabbing with other children, organizing some sort of freeze tag game. He looks so carefree and happy, so at ease.

He is his father's son, through and through.

"He has tons of friends. But no _family._ No one but me."

"We make our own family," Robin's voice is like silk, smoothly and rich. He reaches for her hand, rubs small circles over her palms with his thumbs. She shuts her eyes almost on instinct, just lets herself feel the gentle, calming sensation of his hands over hers. "Henry doesn't need blood relatives. He just needs the people who care about him."

She contemplates his words, thinking of her _own_ family, her own blood, of her cowardly father, demanding, unloving mother, of the greedy, power hungry aunts and uncles and spoiled cousins… and yes, perhaps Henry wasn't missing out on too terribly much.

"But," Robin says, still running those fingers over her hands, drawing out goosebumps and shivers with the light strokes, "I'm more concerned about _you._ I completely understand why you wouldn't trust people, and you certainly don't _need_ the help, you're managing quite well on your own. But it sounds...lonely."

She feels those tears welling up in her eyes again, and god, this is embarrassing. He's being so damn charming, so caring, so in tune with how she feels. And then he tugs at her arms a bit, pulling them across the table so his fingers can skim up her arms, running patterns up delicate skin. It's so damn _calming._ She never wants to let this feeling go and she hates that she can't make it last forever.

"It _is_ lonely," she breathes, "but safe."

"I'm safe," he says quickly. She looks at him with a raised eyebrow. "I'm just saying, if I can take a bit of weight off your shoulders, if you'd let me do that… I'd be honored."

"You already do," she breathes. The look he gives her in response is so tender, and so sweet, she cannot help but smile shyly back at him.

She's about to clarify, maybe thank him for what he's done since she met him, but then there's a muffled cough to her left.

She turns to find their server, wearing a bashful smile, keenly aware she's interrupted something. Regina's elbows are on the table, arms outstretched as Robin pets them. It's not as if she caught them with a hand down the each other's pants but it's not entirely innocent either.

Regina draws her hands back quickly, realizing a bit too late how this whole display looks. She'd be mortified, but well, she won't see these people again and at least Henry didn't see.

"Yes, well, I'll get the boys and let them know dessert is ready," she says, not making eye contact with the waitress as she stands up.

But Robin pulls her towards him, catching her right as the waitress finishes setting down the last sundae.

"You've had a rough day. Whatever you need to unwind… take it. And if I can help make it happen, let me know. Alright?"

Her lips curve into a smile and her eyebrow raised at the (perhaps unintended) innuendo. He smirks sheepishly, shrugging. "I didn't mean it like _that."_ He bites his lip looking at her _that_ way, he way he does when he's playing with her. "But I mean, should you want _that_ to help you unwind, I suppose I could volunteer my services…"

"That won't be necessary," she tries to make her voice sound short and clipped, but there's a smile she can't quite chase away, coating each word in sugary amusement. "I can take care of myself."

"That's an image I don't need in front of my boy," Robin mutters, looking her up and down. She laughs, shakes her head, and tries to ignore the swelling in her heart as she makes her way to Henry and Roland.

 

.:R&R:.

 

She's scurrying on heeled feet, trying to get the attention of their two boys. The afternoon glow of the sun catches her profile, illuminates it, draws shadows and light across the curves and edges, god she's so gorgeous. Her posture is so perfect and elegant, she looks dainty and strong at the same time, curvy and muscular, all things beautiful and nice.

You'd never guess the day she had, how difficult, and how worried she is, not by the way she's acting now, in front of her son.

Robin didn't expect her to open up to him about it at all. He had felt like he was approaching a frightened deer, afraid one wrong movement would send her jolting away from him. But she hadn't run away, she shared things with him that he knows she protects, things she locks away from others. He wants her to share more, to tell him the whole sordid story of why she escorts, what she's planning, and whatever she thinks she did to deserve this pain. He wants her to share all her flaws, every bad judgment error she thinks she made, just so he can tell her it doesn't matter, that his feelings for her and about her haven't changed. That she's still wonderful and smart, caring and beautiful inside and out, and Leopold still deserves a painful death for what he's done to her.

The sound of Henry and Roland bounding towards him snap him out of his thoughts. They are red faced and sweaty, and good, seems they've worked up an appetite.

"Who ordered _that?_ Henry asks, looking at the decadent sundae in front of Regina..

Robin chuckles. "I did, but it's for your mum. I thought she deserves a treat."

"She _always_ tries to get me to order that sundae, but I don't like salted caramel ice cream," Henry grimaces.

"Mm, maybe she just wants to taste a bit of it herself." Robin winks in Regina's direction. She rolls her eyes back at him, shrugging at him, as if acknowledging she's been caught.

Henry scrunched his nose up as if trying to figure out whether that makes sense. "Usually mom only orders tiny or yucky desserts—"

"My desserts aren't yucky they are _healthy,"_ Regina interrupts.

"One of them tastes like sour milk," Henry argues, and that must be the greek yogurt. Robin stifles a laugh as Regina shrugs and says something about it being an acquired taste.

"Mom, am I going to Roland's birthday?" Henry asks. "It's a pool party, and Roland said i'm invited."

Robin turns to her, trying to gage her reaction. She knows he's invited, must know that he _wants_ both of them there. But she looks a bit conflicted and he's not sure why.

"Please Regina? Can Henry come? I want to show him my cannonball?"

Her eyes cross to Roland and he sees it, that smile that says she's been worn down.

"Well, Henry you have soccer practice at 5…"

"I can go right before, the party starts at 1:30!" Robin laughs. Of course Roland had told him the time. The kid loves time these days, ever since he learned his bedtime.

But this doesn't seem to bother Regina. "Alright," she gives, "but save your energy. Don't forget, you're sleeping over Nathan's house afterwards…"

"Oh yeah!" Henry exclaims. And then he's off gabbing to Roland about his friend Nathan. He's showing off, acting like a cool older brother, almost, and it's quite adorable. Regina chimes in with the conversation, engaging Roland and mothering her son, reminding him to drink water and wipe his face, all things Robin should be telling Roland...and he would do that if he wasn't lost in thought.

Because he can't stop thinking about the fact Henry has a sleepover, and what that might mean for Regina and her _second_ business.

She's a smart woman with very few hours of free time. She wouldn't let a free night like that go to waste.

It hurts more than he thought, and also not at all. He's jealous someone else gets time with her, gets to hold her, touch her, gets her attention. But he doesn't care that she's sleeping with someone else. She's not his, it's not _that_ type of jealousy, the type where he wants her all to himself, where the thought of another man inside her has him fuming in anger. He just wishes he had more time with her and envies the person who will get a night of her attention all to themselves.

Robin puts it out of his mind and focuses on things he can control. Like how fast his son is shoveling the very last of his sundae ice into his mouth. "Roland," he chides. "Swallow what's in your mouth before you take a new bite. In fact, I want you to finish your water before you have any more."

Roland gives him this pathetic look, his mouth smeared in chocolate. "But da-ddd" he gurgles with a full mouth of brownie and melted ice cream.

Robin shoots him a stern look, stern enough to have Roland covering his mouth and murmuring a small _sorrry_. He watches his son as he sips the last of his water eagerly.

Robin catches Regina out of the corner of his eye just then. She's watching Roland while taking a very dainty spoonfuls of her dessert.

He wonders if this is the first bite - the sundae looks untouched even after all this time, but it's slightly melted and it's possible that she's managed to sneak a taste or two. But after a moment, it becomes clear this is the first bite.

The sound she makes is far too erotic to hear around the boys, this guttural little moan followed by a _oh my goddd_ that reverberates in his ears. He hates his poor sex deprived body for reacting this way, but he turns to look at her and she's got this look of pure bliss on her face, and fuck, there's a bit of caramel on her lips, he wants to lick it off, and—

"Dad, can we go back and play now?!"

Apparently he's been staring at her long enough for his son to finish those last two bites, and wow, isn't that wonderful? He's pathetic, getting all hot and bothered a few feet from his five year old son.

Someone should dump a bucket of ice water on him.

"Play carefully, you have a belly full of sugar," Robin reminds. He tears his eyes away from Regina, and focuses on Roland. "And you are full of chocolate. I need…" but before he can flag down a waitress to ask about a wet nap, Regina is popping one into his hand. Shit, he _really_ needs to start remembering them.

"Thank you," he says sincerely, washing off Roland as quickly as possible. "I mean it, Roland, no hanging upside down from the monkey bars, your belly still has to settle, okay?"

Roland doesn't look like he's listening to his wise advice at all, but it's no matter, he supposes any vomiting he does will be a good lesson for him, right?

He watches as the boys trot off back to the play area. They look so cute together, his almost 5 year old with her eight year old. Henry's a sweet kid, so kind to him, and—-

" _Mmmm_ , fuck, that's good."

Now that the children are gone, Regina takes a rather big bite of ice cream and caramel corn and peanuts, hand over her mouth as she swallows the last of it.

"If i'm ever on death row, I want this as my last meal," Regina moans. "Thank you for making me get this, I've wanted to try it for so long… no idea how you guessed that."

His heart swells with misplaced pride. He likes that he can read her so well after a relatively short time. "It was the salted caramel ice cream," he admits, "just sounded like something you'd like. That, and you kept glancing down to that corner of the menu."

She laughs, taking another big bite, sighing and throwing her head back just a bit, soft ebony locks spilling back behind her as she does. God, the things he could do to her right now…

Things that he's already done, things that had her wet, warmth clenching around him while she moaned into his mouth.

And things she hadn't done to him that he _really_ shouldn't imagine, but if she keeps it up with the spoon like she is… well… how exactly is he _not_ supposed to imagine his cock in her mouth, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks _him,_ moans of pleasure spilling out in the same way…?

It's probably a good thing they didn't do that, he would have lasted all of three minutes, judging from how good she appears to be…

He loses himself for a bit, forgets his own dessert, his real treat is watching _her_ right now, watching her devour the sundae, watches as she turns the spoon upside down and licks it clean in a way that should be illegal in front of children, and Roland better not need him anytime soon, because he will _not_ be able to get up from the table in a crowd full of children, damn it. He's already far too aroused from watching her eat ice cream. This is bloody embarrassing.

Regina has been making small talk between those jaw dropping sounds of enjoyment, but all he's managed in return is some half hearted replies, little murmurs of agreement, nods and shakes of his head, the occasional "right" or "of course," but his mind's running wild and he's completely given up trying to stop it.

Until she looks at him, suddenly uncertain… self conscious… something.

"What?" she asks, wiping her mouth with a napkin (it catches some of the glistening moisture on her lips which is a damn shame).

He swallows heavily and sighs. Caught again, and so soon after the last time, the time when they danced the tango. He pauses for a moment, let's his teeth catch his bottom lip, and thinks about how to play this.

 

.:R&R:.

 

Something's up with him.

He's usually so talkative, so sweet, but now he's been largely silent, and he's staring at her silently as if something's on his mind. She circles back to what she said — what might have offended him, what might have him drawing back within himself. Maybe she unintentionally reminded him of his late wife, or offended him in some way...or maybe she just has something on her face and he's trying to figure out how to tell her.

She asks him, "What?" and his eyes grow wide, adam's apple bobs, lips move and nothing comes out, as if he's searching for what to say.

And after all that, he simply shrugs and says "What?" back. She groans,drops her spoon in the ice cream dish and leans back on her chair and locks eyes with him. He's not getting off that easily.

"It's nothing," he says, scratching the back of his head.

She sighs and rolls her eyes. "It's not _nothing_. You haven't touched your dessert since Roland left and you keep looking at me. What is wrong?" She self consciously wipes at her face, wondering if there is something on it, fuck, if he's trying to keep himself from laughing at how fast she's pounding away her ice cream...

Robin shakes his head sheepishly and pauses for a moment, looks down, as if to collect himself. In a half a second he look back at her, his expression now confident, sly little smile spread on his face, flushed cheeks the only sign of his previous shyness. "Absolutely nothing is _wrong."_  She motions for him to elaborate, and lets out a frustrated " _Fine_..." His eyebrows pop up as he looks down at her dish, then back to her eyes, "I was thinking about how sexy you are when you eat ice cream. "

Well, that was unexpected. So unexpected that she laughs. And it's not a cute laugh, not a sexy one, but a loud, blustery thing that makes her cheeks heat when she realizes several other tables can hear her.

But he looks positively pleased with himself, grinning ear to ear as his eyes glimmer in the sunlight.

He has really nice eyes.

"I didn't expect that," she whispers, hiding her grin in a paper napkin. Robin chuckles.

"Clearly. I'm full of surprises it seems. Though I had suspected you would be able to tell by now when I'm, err, _admiring_ you."

She supposes that's right, but… "I didn't expect it at this moment, because sexy is the _last_ thing I am right now." she argues, thinking of her sunken eyes, the way her concealer must have faded after a day of trial, and god, the tears that she shed earlier… it wasn't many but she may still look like a raccoon for all she knows. "I know sexy. I have to know what sexy is for my _job_. I am not sexy right now."

"You clearly haven't seen how good you look when you're licking a spoon," Robin winks at her, "Or you know, those sounds you make when you're really enjoying something."

She rolls her eyes again, but thinking back on it, she _had_ been rather vocal about the taste, and hell, it she'd ordinarily never equate orgasms with ice cream but…Well, this was a spectacular sundae and she had enjoyed it more than most of the sex she's had in her life.

She looks down at the rest of the dish. It's a mess of melted cream and fudge, and peanut butter… she takes another big spoonful and moaning, this time smiling when she notices how his eyes fall to her lips. How had she so grossly misinterpreted the way he looked at her before? It seems so obvious now. The combination of the sugar and the sun and the serene moment has her feeling giddy and light. She smiles broadly and confesses, "I needed this."

Robin nods, eyes still focused on her lips. He seems to be lost in the moment until she smirks at him, and then stumbles to ask, "What did you need? The ice cream? In that case I'm glad I insisted."

But she just silently shakes a _no,_ because she means she needed _him,_ his bright eyes and stupid grin and pathetic flirting. She needs whatever voodoo that makes her feel as if she's not being crushed by impending doom. Whatever makes time stop and let's her just enjoy the moment. But there's no way to articulate all that so she settles on, "The company. And the jokes. It's a hard day and it's been a hard week. And it's going to be an even harder few weeks… I'm just lucky to have met you, is all."

"Ah."He looks touched, pauses, stares over the side of the table, where her hands rest in her lap. and then he's sneaking under that table and grabbing hers. She threads fingers through his. It feels nice. "I believe the good fortune was mine in our case." he insists, adding a gentle squeeze to punctuate the statement. "And if you ever need a laugh, or company, or someone to rant to, you have my number."

"I do," she smiles, squeezing his hand back. And maybe it's the sugar high, or the heat if the sun or the exhaustion of the day, but she adds, "don't be surprised if I take you up on that offer."

"I want you to," his voice is smooth, melts over her like warm butter. She loves his voice.

For a moment they say nothing, just trade looks while their hands caress one another's. And then Robin sighs dramatically as his fingers coast up her palm.

"I really want to kiss you right now."

it washes over her like a warm wave, the longing, the pure desire in his voice, that hint of affection that seems far too sweet when directed at someone like _her._

She wants to kiss him too, of course, but then….

"You can't. Our sons are here," she reminds him with a giggle, glancing in their direction.

Robin looks positively pleased as he asks, "Is that the only reason?"

Something's changed. He realizes she likes him too, it seems. Not that it wasn't obvious, the way she stuck her tongue down his throat last week. But that was supposed to be a distraction and now it seems he's asking for… more.

"We work together," she reminds him, "and that would be...unprofessional."

"I don't care," he answers quickly.

"My boss does," Regina reminds, trying to sound stern..

But Robin doesn't seem to take that as truth. "Does he? He knows we've already kissed, and he didn't seem to mind."

"Because he thinks I'm manipulating you." She thinks of Gold snarling _I see the way he looks at you. He wanted another taste._ It sickens her to even think of using Robin's interest in her that way.

But apparently it doesn't concern Robin at all. "Let him think that, then. I don't mind."

"It's not just _that_ job, I..."

"I don't care about either of your jobs," he interrupts. He eyes go wide, and he shrugs. "I don't. I like you, and I think you might like me. Nothing in your life has to change, I won't make any demands or—"

"You know there's a reason I escort, Robin. And the reason has to do with why this won't work."

"Is _that_ the only reason?" He asks.

She bites her lip, unsure what to tell him. There are other reasons, like he's too good to take on someone like her. Like he deserves better. Like if he gets to know her any more she will only fuck this up like she's done with any relationship in her life. But he will argue none of that matters, because he's put her on some sort of pedestal. Possibly because it had been so long since he slept with someone, and he needs to think of the first woman he slept with after Marian as perfect, so he's—

It doesn't matter why, does it? He's blind when it comes to her and she can't hurt another perfect soul. She's done slaughtering the hearts of the innocent.

It seems Robin has given up waiting for an answer to his question, so he sighs and rephrased. "You know how I feel. Do you feel the same, at all?"

She settles the question with a shrug. "If I didn't feel the same, I wouldn't have kissed you."

He should already know that, but he still smiles and lets out this long sigh of relief. Oh come on, was that really such a surprie?

"Good," he says, winking at her.

"That doesn't mean I want to date you," she clarifies firmly.

"I know," Robin assures, waving his hand as if it were inconsequential. "But at least now I won't feel guilty about how terribly I flirt with you."

"I like the flirting," she admits, feeling a heat to her cheeks, and she can't help herself from tempering the confession with a, "Maybe because you're so bad at it."

He looks at her with mock offense, taking in a gasp of shock. "I think I'm offended," he says, but his facial expression looks anything but offended.

"I think you're lying," she quips back, tilting her head and locking eyes with him.

"I think you taste like salted caramel and sugar and that little hint of cinnamon I've tasted on you every time we've kissed," he murmurs. It throws her off, probably has her blushing something fierce now.

"You don't get to find out," she says when she's regained her composure. "But you can have a bite of my ice cream."

It hardly counts as ice cream anymore, but he still takes a liquidity spoonful. He hums approval, smiles at her devilishly and says "Nice, but I miss the cinnamon."

"I bet you do," she smirks. They stay like that, for a few more moments, trading glances and eating melted ice cream like lovesick idiots until Henry comes running up beside them.

"Mom, I have to go to the bathroom."

The magic of the moment bends and snaps in half. She jumps into mom mode, rising from her seat. She'll stand by the door of the men's room and wait for him. She doesn't like him alone, not for too long… and this is always a fight as he grows older, but he's going to have to suck it up, because—

"I'll take him," Robin offers. "I have a feeling Roland needs to go too."

Roland nods his head and hums affirmatively.

"See? I've got them," he says with a wink. "You sit right there."

She does just that, watches as he walks with her son, laughing and joking with him, so naturally, as if he's known him for years. It's a sight she could get used to.

If only.

 

.::.

 

She's beautiful when she blushes.

She's always beautiful, to be quite accurate, but when she blushes, when that warm pink hue streaks across her cheekbones like the first muted rays of light in a sunrise... that is when she is particularly stunning. She looks so pure, trying to hide a shyness most people will never know she has inside of her. She's absolutely adorable in those moments. She's sexy often, gorgeous always, but he doesn't really appreciate how cute she is, how her nose wrinkles when she laughs, how she breaks eye contact when he says something that has her embarrassed, how she stares up at him with those innocent eyes as redness seeps through perfect olive skin.

He's going to keep drawing out that blush, for as long and as often as she lets him.

And she's letting him. She's told him in words and action that she doesn't want him to stop, so why would he ever deny himself the beauty of seeing Regina react the way she does to his compliments, to his not-so-subtle flirtatious comments?

Nothing will happen.

He tells himself this, though he may fantasize otherwise, Regina doesn't want a relationship. Maybe he doesn't either. Maybe that's why he's so infatuated with her. She's safe to flirt with, to share feelings with, to fantasize about, to get his heart racing and blood pumping, but in the end he will always go home just as alone as he was before. But that can't be it, or else he wouldn't be here, wishing he could kiss her and hold her after they tuck their sons in for the night…

It's too early to think about these things, even if a relationship is possible.

But for the first time in forever he wants someone, desires and lusts and cares, deeply, for a person who isn't Marian, and it doesn't feel like he's sullying her memory at all. It feels wonderful, actually.

So even if nothing comes of it, he will spend as much as he can, flirting terribly and obviously, drawing out every blush he can muster out of this beautiful woman.

He walks her and her son back to their car, says goodnight, planting a kiss to her forehead, and then her cheek, feeling lucky as hell when she returns them with a chaste kiss of her own. It hits his lower jaw, so close to his neck that it sends a shiver down his spine. When she whispers _thank you, so much_ into his ear, a warmth he can't describe melts over him. She promises to call soon.

If this is all there is with them, it's really not so bad. But he can hope it evolves into more — hope he wants it and will embrace the opportunity to love her if she lets him in enough to do so.


	11. Chapter 11

Isaac requests a two hour session on Friday night.

It works perfectly with Henry’s soccer practice, especially since Jonathan’s dad offers to take them out to pizza and ice cream afterwards.

Mal books the room for her, as she always does. Regina pays her back in cash, so there’s no record of credit card statements showing several nights away at local hotels. It would... raise suspicion, to say the least.

Another independent will come in to use the room later that night, Mal warns. That saves Regina money, and that girl too. They work together. Split things.

Regina knows the agency would take issue with this arrangement if they ever found out, considering Mal is, quite frankly, helping the competition by assisting with these rooms. But Mal knows how to be discreet, and there is a slight bit of camaraderie between the company girls and the independent ones. Regina doesn’t necessarily have the protection that the company girls do (or the schedule, freedom is exactly why she avoids agencies) but they look out for one another, share problem clients, recommend clients to one another occasionally…

So despite being competition, things aren't as… adversarial… as one might think.

At least, not with the girls.

Now Ingrid, their Madam… that’s another story. However, Ingrid would rather her clients have an occasional romp with Regina than running off to another rival agency. She's a dalliance he may indulge in once every month or two, but he's unlikely to quit using the agency entirely — though he might, for a time, if Regina gives him what he wants.

Speaking of that, Isaac has been… specific. He wants her to dress in a “barely passable” business outfit with sexy lingerie underneath.

And she knows sexy means “trashy”.

So she reaches into her Fredericks of Hollywood drawer of lingerie — the one hidden on a high shelf in her closet — and grabs the lace shelf bra with the electric blue satin.

It's not really a _bra_ , if a bra is supposed to provide any sort of support, but she's only wearing this in a hotel room, so what does it matter?

She wears jeans and a tee shirt to the lobby of the building, checks in with a smile, and then changes into a far too tight pencil skirt, so short you can see the straps of her garters, and one of those ridiculous button up shirts that's so tight she can't button the top at all.

Her standard clientele usually don't go this route… and well, clients who see _Mia_ usually aren't into this, but sometimes people like to mix it up, right?

She's been at this too long to feel nervous, or the type of dread that hangs low in her belly like she swallowed a bar of lead.

But there's something different about this time, something she can't quite place.

The obvious reason is Robin. She's not used to… feeling things. She feels things now, for him, and she still has to sleep with other men. Maybe that's why there's a voice in her head crying for her to stop.

But she's always been so good at separating herself, _this,_ from normal sex, from love and emotion. And there have been other men since she first saw Robin, and she's never felt like this.

She pushes the thoughts out of her head he moment Isaac knocks, and changes her posture, her gaze… all those little things that make her _Alexandra._

The moment he greets her, her gut tells her something is not right.

She's poised against the door in a sultry smile. Isaac groans, licking his lips as he pushes past her, entering before she can even invite him in.

He kisses her before she can invite him to do that, too, pressing her against the wall and griping greedily. And he hasn't paid her yet — he should know better than this, he's a regular of the agency…

“Isaac,” Regina rips herself out of the kiss and gives him a firm push. “Shouldn't you… freshen up?”

“Oh,” Isaac says, biting his lip, “I suppose I should.”

He steals another kiss and grumbles that she's _hot as hell_ before he goes to the bathroom as she's requested.

He comes back a minute later, clearly having used the mouthwash she had put on the counter for him, but looking no less eager.

“My turn,” she reminds.

It's her turn to use the bathroom, to make sure he's left her the money for the evening. She will count it, apply some sort of fruity lip balm, lube up (she's going to need a _lotttt_ of that today), and return fresh and ready.

He frowns. “I think you smell and feel quite fresh already,” he moans, grabbing at her ass.

If she hadn't known him from before, if Mal hadn't recommended him, this would be when warning lights would flash in her mind. But she knows he's perfectly capable of following the rules, he's just a bit worked up.

So she raises an eyebrow at him and shoots him one of her stern no-nonsense glares.

It works, has him releasing her immediately, arms in the air. “Of course, if you insist…”

He releases her and lets her have her moment in the bathroom. The money is there, everything is in order. She readies herself for the evening, reminding herself it's just a few hours, that soon she will be freshly showered, and home with her son.

It's just a few hours, she feels uncomfortable because Robin is throwing her nerves off.

Robin with his hot kisses and that way he has of touching her (platonically) where she wants it, right when she needs it the most…

She's only nervous because of him, he's on her mind and she feels like she's betraying him, which is nonsense because they are nothing, and she has a job to do…

And she's going to do that job. She knows this guy, knows what he likes. And she will give him the fantasy, be the cool girl who really wants sex, she will fake those orgasms, she will ask for what she knows he wants to do.

It will be easy.

She exits the bathroom with renewed confidence, a sultry smile on her face and words on her lips she never gets to say before he speaks first and asks a coy “So then, are you clean and ready for me?”

It's not that there's anything wrong with those words… _she_ has said similar to that many times. It's just… unusual for a new client to be so bold.

But he _was_ with her already, so maybe it's not that strange at all.

“Definitely,” she responds, keeping her voice as low and sexy as she can.

He grabs at the back of her neck and pulls her into a kiss. It's deep and hungry and… uncomfortable. His tongue is darting, intruding in her mouth, it feels aggressive and angry, so different from the shy awkward man he was with Mal.

“Easy,” she whisper, directing him towards the bed, trying to take control.

But he wants to lead, so he stills her with a silent shake of his head. “Want you like this,” he says, pushing her hard up against the hotel wall, hooking his arm under her knee and pulling it to rest on his hip.

He's the client, so he gets to do this.

He gets to kiss her, all aggressive and entitled, gets to work a hand between her legs, underneath her underwear. He is paying good money to get to groan into her ear about how fucking _soaked_ her _pussy_ is, and she's a mature professional, so she swallows heavily and hums into his mouth that she knows she is, that she wants him.

He takes her skirt off first, turns her so she's facing the wall, strips off her underwear so she's bare for him. He palms her ass with his hand, then gripes and cups, digs his nails into her, hard, then a bit _too_ hard.

“Gentle!” she warns, spinning around.

He just chuckles, but he releases his grip and sinks to his knees.

She feels his tongue on her, licking at her from behind. It's… not the best angle, but it's not like she's going to get any enjoyment out of this, anyway, so what does she care?

He licks at her sex and fucks her with his tongue, thrusting once, twice, then pulls back abruptly with a frustrated grunt and spins her around.

She looks down at him, puzzled, but he just looks at her, almost accusingly. “You taste different.”

Well, yeah. She tastes of edible lubricant, instead of herself, and well, it was probably was a bad idea to let him taste her at all.

But there's not much she can say about the state of things, so she offers him a coy smile and asks, “And how about you? Do _you_ taste the same?”

He frowns and rises back to his feet, kisses her, and pulls at each button of her shirt until they pop open. He kisses and licks at each new inch of skin he exposes, each sucking kiss longer, harder. “I want you the way you were before,” he breathes, “the way _she_ made you, the way you told me I could make you…”

Regina panics now, just a bit, because, well, that simply won't happen. The guy with the harsh, poking fingers who jabs his tongue oddly along the tender skin of her neck and breasts isn't going to make her even a little turned on. But if he wants that, maybe she could try to get off herself, to put on a little show.

“Slow down,” she whispers, attempting to move his head off of her chest. But he only sucks harder, hard enough to leave a welt on her skin. And then he is pulling down her bra and attacking her nipples with his mouth in a way that not only feels uncomfortable— it is just on the edge of pain.

“Hey,” she says, firm now, “that hurts. Stop it.”

“You like it rough, don't you?” He asks, and no, no she doesn't.

“No, this isn't my style,” she says in a voice that sounds a bit too weak to be hers. “I…”

“Softer, then,” he seems to understand. She's still up against the wall, but he _is_ being more gentle now, as he rucks up the rest of her clothes, leaving those garters on and nothing else.

“So hot,” he moans, his hands tracing her body. His touch feels… uncomfortable. Like the prodding of a doctor's visit. It's not sexy, but it's certainly not as bad as before.

So she offers him an encouraging moan as he slips two fingers inside her, pumping lazily at first as he kisses her lips softly.

He picks up pace a bit, but keeps it slow.

And she's just thinking, maybe if she shifted the angle, maybe if she gave him direction, this wouldn't be so bad…

She's just about to offer these things, when he picks up the pace rapidly.

It has her squirming, a little moan of discomfort leaving her mouth — this isn't… she's not there yet and his fingers hit at an odd angle, slam against places it shouldn't.

“You _don't_ like it gentle,” he says, “you like it rough, see?”

She hates to spoil the fantasy, but she doesn't want to be sore and hurting either. “N-no, this isn't—”

“Afraid to admit how dirty you are?” he chuckles. “It's okay, I know.”

His hand is on her hip, holding her firmly against the wall as he pumps into her, sharp tendrons of pain weave up inside, and she knows this pain, is all-too-familiar with it, this will not simply fade away. This will stay with her, these little abrasions from the painful angle, the way his fingernails dig insto sensitive skin, it’s all too much.

“Isaac…. this hurts,” she gasps, but her voice is breathy from struggling to hold in those initial sounds of discomfort, and it seems he likes the sound of them.

“Hurts good, huh?”

His free hand is now wrapped around her shoulder, and he sinks his teeth into the flesh between her shoulder and neck… hard.

She squirms to get out of his embrace but this is all wrong, he's angry, he finally (thankfully) pulls his fingers out from inside her only to use that hand to keep her against that wall.

“You think you can _fool_ me,” he mutters, “But I watched you, I know what you like, who you are, you’re a dirty girl—”

“Enough,” Regina says sternly, “this is over. Stop or—”

Isaac just laughs and unzips his pants. He grips his hands around each shoulder at the base of her neck, his body pressed against hers, keeping her from moving her arms. He squeezes her shoulders tight, thumbs digging into the base of her throat. He chokes her just enough to where she gasps for breath, then releases and pins her body flush against the wall with one arm, wrist-to-elbow pressed against her chest and arms.

“Oh, I’m not stopping. You liked it hard, and you came so much, I watched Mia, she showed me how to touch you, so shut your damn mouth and…”

He forgot about her legs. The second he moves his free hand from his zipper to the top button he fumbles just a bit, and she has a clear shot and takes it, kneeing him hard in the crotch.

He immediately releases her, doubling over in pain. but she knees him again, this time hitting him squarely in the forehead. And then he's on the floor, crying out like the pathetic piece of trash he is.

He’s still moaning in pain, in fetal position, rocking on the floor, one hand on his head, the other on his crotch, when she grabs her clothes from the hotel closet - normal clothes she can wear. She throws the jeans on right on top of the garters, not bothering to put on underwear, because this is going to be a quick exit. She does the same with the shirt, a standard mulberry colored tee that she won't mind wearing braless. All she needs now are her shoes and lingerie and his money, and she's out—-

“You bitch! Where do you think you're going?” he grumbles, still unable to look at her. God, she hopes that kick to the head made him dizzy. Her knee aches, she hopes his head hurts worse.

“I'm leaving,” Regina says casually.

“Not with my money you aren't,” he grumbles.

“Yes with your money.” Regina says with a shrug, “I think I've more than earned it.”

“You leave now and I'll _ruin_ you,” he slurs. He's still lying on the floor of the hotel in pain, and the strength of his words under this circumstance tickles her.

“And how are you going to do that?” she asks.

“I'll trash this room. I'll write — _humph_ — a bad review, I'll trash you to everyone who listens, I’ll—”

He tries to get up again, but Regina hits him hard in the stomach, hard enough to where he moans and cries in pain.

“Do you think I'm dumb enough to book this room in my own name?” she snickers, “Go ahead and trash it, I would love to hear what consequences you face. And trash my reputation? Please. I'll trash _yours_ if you even try. I'll make it so _no one_ will do business with you again—”

“Bullshit,” he mutters, and that hand rubbing his forehead drops to the floor as he braces himself on his elbow. “You're an independent. You think I believe you work for an agency? You're alone sweetie, stop talking a big game. I'm a perfect gentleman to all the agency girls. They love me. None of them will believe you. I'll ruin you, as I said. So why don't you take a seat, right on that bed…”

That's it. She's heard of this before, men being decent customers to agencies and agency girls because they know they can't afford to be blacklisted. And it’s true, Regina may not have any of those protections, but she has just enough connections to _seem_ important.

“And I said _I'll_ ruin you,” Regina says slyly, though she doesn’t quite believe it. “I may not be with the agency, but they listen to me. Why do you think Mia works with me? We share things, you know. Like information on our clients — and I doubt she will be pleased with what I have to say about _you.”_

She knows it’s a mistake, but she tries to grab for her shoes from where he’s sitting on the ground in pain.

And the moment she goes for them, he’s up, grabbing at her again, pushing her back against the wall, knocking her head hard against it.

She goes for his eyes this time.

Two strong thumbs press into his eyeballs, and he’s weak, he’s pathetic, he screeches this time, keels over, gives her room to knee him in the jaw this time.

This time, there’s blood. He’s bit his tongue maybe, or lip. Whatever it is, it looks awful, but she’s sure he will live.

Unfortunately.

She grabs her shoes and the envelope of cash, finally feeling free.

She should just run, but she doesn't want him to trash this room, it'll make things complicated for everyone. So she looks at him with pure disgust, and bites out, “You have an hour and a half left of our session and you are welcome to stay here until then - consider it the most expensive two hour hotel stay ever. But then get out. Someone new will be here later and she will _not_ be pleased if she has to call one of the company drivers to assist with your removal.”

“You bitch!” he screams, “I will get you back for this believe me, I will—”

She doesn't care to hear the rest of his threat, so she storms out, confident and bold as ever, grateful she wore a tee shirt with a high neckline to cover the red marks he left on her body. She has her lingerie and “outfit” wedged into her little travel bag, wrinkled and balled up, and the lubricant, mouthwash, mints and condoms are still in the room - a parting gift she supposes. He can take them, she has his money.

And speaking of money, she _really_ should not have taken it, she should have just left him and let him keep it, but the thought of him getting to touch her bare skin, to bruise her body, cut her from the inside, and swipe his tongue over sensitive flesh all without paying a price, well that seems unconscionable. She wants him to pay, wants to punish him in some other way too, but she knows the path to revenge leads to getting caught. So for the sake of her son, _this_ will have to do.

In two hours she calls to remind the hotel to provide turndown service (the new girl will want clean sheets) and is relieved to hear that the maid has already provided it without incident.

Isaac must have left the place in decent condition.

Well at least there's that.

But fuck, she needs a new regular. And the right way. Not fucking around with shortcuts, now.

And no ignoring her gut feeling that something is off. Her instincts have gotten her this far, she has to learn to trust them, if there’s anything she can trust in this world.

 

.::.

 

Regina tries to put Isaac behind her the moment she gets home, but she’s not all too successful. She’s sore and achey, the pain starts to make itself known as the adrenaline wears off.

And by the time her head hits the pillow, she’s really too uncomfortable to sleep.

So she’s happy for the distraction when her phone buzzes. It is a text from Robin asking her how her night is going, and if she ended up taking Henry to see that movie he had recommended. It fills her with a bit of warmth, and then a twinge of misplaced guilt that has no business being there.

It’s not guilt over doing her job, over sleeping with someone else. Oddly enough it is over the fact she can’t tell him about her night, over the fact she has to conceal that from him. It’s getting increasingly difficult, with Robin. He’s offered her an open ear, told her she can vent and share with him, and frankly… it’s tempting. He knows about her double life, but that still doesn’t mean she can text him back _No, I wasn’t able to make that movie, I had a new client to entertain, things did not go well, but don’t worry, I think I may have kicked one of his balls so hard it is lodged somewhere inside him._

She doesn’t talk about that aspect of her life with him, even though he’s one of the only people who know what she does for a living that isn’t a client himself. It feels wrong somehow. Probably because there’s feelings there, they both have them, and ask much as he assures her he doesn’t care that she sleeps with men for money, a part of her can’t help but worry that reminding him of what she is will end all of this.

So she texts him a polite answer, tells him she was swamped with work and unable to take Henry out to the movies, but hopefully she can take him next week.

Robin sends her a video then, along with the words, _Thought you might enjoy this, apparently you’ve made quite the impression on Roland_.

The video is of a talkative Roland playing with his stuffed animals. They are all seated in a circle, and he’s pretending to read to them, sitting on his little kids sized plastic chair, lecturing them in a tone that he undoubtedly picked up from his kindergarten teacher. She laughs as he points to Dobby the toy monkey she got him and wags a warning finger, saying _And Dobby, no talking during storytime, or I will have to call your mother and tell her you were naughty._

An off-camera Robin laughs, and asks _“Is Dobby misbehaving?”_

Roland looks up and shakes his head. _“No he won’t be bad because he doesn’t want his mommy to be mad at him.”_

 _“And who is Dobby’s mommy?”_ Robing asks, his voice sounds like he’s suppressing laughter.

 _“Regina,”_ Roland says simply. _“And she will give him a time out if he is naughty. And he won’t get to go to Treasure Island with me and Henry.”_

Regina’s eyes actually water watching him, seeing the little boy so casually mention her name. Nostalgic thoughts flood her mind, of a five year old Henry playing with _his_ toys like that, asking that she feed his stuffed bear at snack time and dinner time, Henry trying pack his bear in his small backpack, insisting that Baloo had to go to preschool to learn his letters and numbers, too.

They end up sending a few texts trading stories about strong willed children, until exhaustion hits her, and she tells him goodnight, her mind blissfully blank of the unfortunate incidents of earlier tonight.

It’s not until the next morning, when she gets out of bed and feels the stabbing pain in her neck, that she thinks of Isaac again. 

And then there’s anger.

By now the red marks on her body have bruised, delightful souvenirs from her evening with that asshole.

Nothing hurts all that much. It's just… annoying. She has to cover the bruises (in particular that one on her collarbone from his mouth - it looks like a hickey of sorts, even though it’s more of a bite) adding to her frustration.

And it's summer, damn it. It's really hard to find a high collared outfit in summer.

She figures it out, a simple white shirt paired with a silk scarf that perfectly hides the reminder of her shameful double life. Even a tee shirt that covers the base of her neck would work, but she had hoped to be a bit more formal for… well, it’s a kid’s birthday, but it’s also a meeting with Mulan, of sorts.

She _had_ a client tonight, too. An overnight, to be exact. But she will reschedule with Liam - her insides are still a bit raw, any way. She can feign illness, and offer to cover him with someone. Liam won’t mind. It’s the first time she’s ever had to cancel with him.

Her cell phone buzzes, snapping her out of her train of thought.

She knows it's Mal calling before she can even look at the screen.

Whenever they recommend clients it's customary to call each other afterwards, just to make sure everything is okay.

But Regina had no interest in recalling the events of last night. She just wanted to get home to her son and pretend it never happened for as long as she could. So she hadn't reached out, and was asleep by the time Mal saw it fit to call her herself.

And it seems Mal has concluded Regina is in some sort of distress, because it's 9:30 in the morning, not a time when Mal would normally be awake.

She grimaces and shuts the door to her bedroom, the steady hum of Saturday morning cartoons assuring her Henry is otherwise occupied.

“Hello,” Regina says, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible.

“What happened?” Mal asks immediately. “With Isaac. Was he an ass? Did he _hurt_ you?”

“Did he say something?” Regina asks slowly, unable to think of how to respond. “He probably wants his money back, he may be talking to—”

“I don’t give a _fuck_ about what he wants. What did he do to you? I can hear something’s not right by the sound of your voice. You’ve got that sing-songy _everything is fine_ tone, and you only bring that out when you are upset. And we _always_ talk about shared clients the night of and I didn’t so much as get a text.”

“It was nothing I couldn’t handle.” Regina says slowly, “not even the worst client I had, so—”

“Fuck, Regina, I really thought he was harmless. I’m coming over.”

Mal ends the call before she can so much as react, and it’s fruitless to argue with her anyway. Besides, her bruises really aren’t that bad.

This will just give Mal some peace of mind.

But twenty minutes later, when she shows up at her doorstep in leggings and a tank top, her face fresh and clean, free of any makeup, hair thrown into a quick bun, she knows that Mal hasn’t just been curious as to the state of her evening, she’s been downright _worried_ about her.

“Aunt Mal!” Henry calls, running to hug her. “I’m going to a birthday party _and_ a soccer game _and_ a sleepover tonight!”

“You are?” Mal asks, her eyes darting over to Regina. “Well, doesn’t that sound like fun?”

Her eyes focus on the television, and Regina cringes. Morning cartoons are only reserved for Henry during special times, or when she needs the brain vacation.

And Mal knows that.

“Henry, I need to talk to your mom about girl stuff,” she says lightly, “just some clothes and makeup tips. Would you like to sit in and offer advice?”

Henry screws his face into a frown. “Ew, no. I don’t want to talk about _clothes_ and _makeup_!”

“Suit yourself!” Mal says with a smile. “I’ll bring your mom right back, okay?”

Henry nods, focusing on his cereal and television show, and then Mal is ushering her up the stairs.

She can be such a mother sometimes.

“Okay, strip,” she says the second she closes Regina’s bedroom door. “You’re wearing a high collared, long sleeve shirt when you usually wear tank tops in the morning, so don’t even pretend to tell me he didn’t bruise you.”

“It’s not that bad,” Regina insists. “The worst he did was threaten me, you know, he’s going to give me a bad review, make it so no one will use me—”

“He’s not going to give you a bad review, because I’m going to cut his dick off,” Mal mutters between clenched teeth.

Regina doesn’t fight when she reaches for the hem of her shirt and lifts it over her head.

She expects Mal to see the slight damage and be relieved, but she looks anything but relieved.

 _“Fuck,”_ Mal murmurs, fingers tracing over the faint bruises around her shoulders, her breasts.

She lifts her hair and sighs. “Fuck, the back of your neck is purple, that bastard.”

Regina cringes. “It is? Shit, this is going to be embarrassing, I—”

“Embarrassing?” Mal asks, as if it were absurd. “This isn’t _embarrassing._ A man _I_ trusted, _I_ recommended, just hurt you, this is…. For fuck’s sake you have no reason to be ashamed. I should have known. He was a little odd, but I thought it was just social awkwardness, I never saw this coming.” She slaps a hand on her forehead, and Regina can tell she feels horribly guilty, but she shouldn’t.

“Shh, it’s not your fault,” Regina assures, running a hand over the top of her loosely tied curls. “I met him when he was with you and he _did_ seem harmless. I came to the same conclusion.”

“What happened?” Mal asks, “Just tell me the whole story, I’m supposed to see this guy next week, and I can’t… You just need to tell me.”

Regina scrunches her nose, because Mal will be safe with him, won’t she? Well, she _really_ doesn’t want to take that risk.

She tells her everything, from the aggressive way he started to the way he obsessed over their night together, to the bruising hickeys and the tearing fingers, the choking, all of it. Even just retelling the story makes her feels dirty in a way she hasn’t in years. Because she let him put his mouth on her, his hands on her, and hell, the fact that _that_ man got to touch her at all makes her feel like the trash she is.

“You told him it hurt and he didn’t stop?” Mal asks matter-of-factly.

“Right, and then he, um, pinned me to the wall and said I liked it rough again, and started squeezing around my shoulders and so….” She smiles. “I hit him. Kneed him, actually, in the balls. Hard. He crumbled over like a sack of potatoes, and I got him again in the forehead as he fell. And I got him a couple of times in the stomach. Hurt him enough to gather my things. I took the money for the full session. Figured I had earned it.”

Mal snorts. “Good.”

“Well not exactly,” Regina says, “Now he’s angry and looking for revenge. And I really have too much going on to get myself in the middle of a fight with an idiot. I could have figured something else out instead of kicking him, but you know how I get…”

“I _love_ how you get, Regina. If you weren’t such a firecracker I wouldn’t have taught you this business. He deserve everything he got. And now I’m going to make sure no one else works with this guy. He’s dangerous.”

Regina shakes her head. “It turned out he was one of those assholes who thinks independents can’t hurt his reputation. He’s going to be nice to the company girls, and abuse the ones he thinks are independent.”

“He’s not going to abuse _anyone._ ” Mal says plainly. “Because he’s getting blacklisted.”

“Ingrid would never blacklist him over his treatment of _me.”_ Regina argues. “She hates me!”

“Bullshit, she likes you, she’s just bitter that you won’t work for her. I’m calling her.”

Mal, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Regina warns, “Besides, he said he’d ruin me, and he seems like he didn’t have much to lose on his own. He’s going to make life complicated for us. I just… I just want it over. Make sure the girls know never to see him as an independent. We’ll get the word out, like all the others.”

“ _All_ _the others_ didn’t trick me into recommending them to my best friend,” Mal gripes. She’s so angry, she’s vibrating with it, her face is red and eyes dark and determined as she reaches for her phone.

When the other side picks up, she speaks fast and choppy, as if she’s having trouble composing her thoughts. “Ingrid. We have a problem with a client. Isaac Heller. I recommended him to Alexandra, you know the girl. I know I’m not supposed to, so you can yell at me for that later, blah blah blah, I’m only to recommend company girls, but we don’t have many that look like Alexandra do we?”

There’s a pause, as Ingrid must be giving her whatever lecture she’s due.

“Fine, whatever. But he bruised her all up and down, do you want me to send you pictures? Fuck, let me call you back.”

“It’s okay, Mal.” Regina soothes, “He’s going to be fine with the company girls—”

“Fuck _off,_ Regina, and let me do this!” Mal says frantically.

This time, when she dials Ingrid, it’s on facetime.

She puts Ingrid on speaker. “Alright, let me assess the damage,” Ingrid says carefully. Mal waves the phone in front of the bruises, lifts Regina’s hair to show her the purple splotches on the back of her neck.

“Well,” Ingrid says. “It’s not all that bad, is it?”

“Fuck you, Ingrid,” Mal snarls.

“She’s right,” Regina agrees. “It’s been much worse for us. You know that.”

“It would have _been_ worse had she not gotten out in time,” Mal argues. “He pinned her to the wall, she had to take a cheap shot to his balls to even get out of there.”

That, that seems to catch Ingrid’s attention. “Alexandra, is this true?” she asks.

“Yes,” Regina groans. “But he’s not going to hurt your girls. He specifically mentioned that he didn’t think I had any course of action as I was only independent, he seemed to think…”

“Well, he thought wrong, didn’t he?” Ingrid sighs. “I can’t have someone flying off the handle and marking up my girls, can I? Our clientele do not like… bruises all over their women.”

Regina is shocked. She and Ingrid have had discussions, several, when she first started, about joining the company. And she always insisted she had to do this herself, had to work on her own terms, couldn’t live by a schedule that someone else set for her.

Ingrid had been so adamantly against helping her in any way, if she wasn’t going to work _for_ her, she was the competition — competition Ingrid was set on putting out of business. Her girls weren’t allowed to recommend Regina to others, and even her duos with Mal were kept secret.

She didn’t expect Ingrid to do anything but laugh at her pain.

This is unexpected.

“I’m not going to tell you that the company could have protected you if you worked for us, because you already know that,” Ingrid states plainly. “You really ought to reconsider joining us. But I know you won’t.”

“I won’t,” Regina agrees.

“Be careful,” Ingrid says a little too warmly. “I know what I’ve told you in the past, Alexandra, but I really don’t like to see any ladies hurt. And I don’t like fraternizing with problematic clients. You tell us if you encounter anyone else dangerous, okay? And we’ll do the same. Stay safe.”

She’s too stunned to process the end of the conversation. It’s not at all what she expected.

Mal is smiling at her, shooting her a look that screams _I told you so._

“You have friends, Regina. And people who are looking out for you. You just have to let them care for you.”

All she can do is nod her head, and wrap her arms around her friend.

“Go have yourself a long bubble bath and take your time getting dressed. I have Henry.”

“I’m fine,” Regina insists, but Mal just rolls her eyes “Sounds like you have a busy day, anyway. So take it.” And her voice goes warmer, drizzling over like honey, slow and sweet as she adds, “I don’t know why you don’t just let me take care of you.”

“Because that’s not your job,” Regina reminds with a sigh.

Mal just mumbles something she doesn’t catch, But from the tone of her voice, she clearly disagrees.

 

.::.

 

Regina fills her tub with the expensive bath bombs, lathers in sweet smelling soap, and pours a generous amount of lotion over her body, paying careful attention to where she’s sore and aching. She feels lighter, clean and relaxed.

Mal gets out her makeup and touches up one of the bruises on her neck visible even over her blouse, and does such a good job she can’t even tell there’s a bruise at all until she touches the area and feels where it’s tender and sore.

She opts for a white shell top, decorated by tiny black flecks. It’s high collared, covers nearly everything but the marks on her arm and neck. The bruise on her arm is harmless. She could have bumped into anything, after all. Still, something about having a bruise he gave her exposed has her uncomfortable. So she grabs a fashionable gray cropped blazer and puts it on. The weather is warm, too warm for the blazer, but she can hug a shaded spot outside or spend time indoors. She tells herself she will feel comfortable once she arrives.

 

.::.

 

She’s not sure what she expected Robin’s home to look like, but this isn’t it.

It’s a nice neighborhood, but from the street, it doesn’t look like the type of home the Vice President of an incredibly successful start-up would live in. He could have chosen a far more exclusive neighborhood, perhaps in a gated community where the homes are huge on acres upon acres of land. But this is a middle class neighborhood, on a street that probably comes alive on Halloween, set with trick-or-treating children wandering from home to home.

Robin’s house is set a bit further back from the street from others, and when she approaches she realizes it’s a bit bigger than it appeared.

Still, it's nothing fancy, and neither are the decorations for Roland’s parties. Simple balloons decorate the mailbox and front porch. A cardboard cutout of Spiderman is stuck to the front door, with a word bubble that says “Welcome to Roland’s Birthday! No need to knock. Come right in!”

The first thing she thinks is that such a sign is unsafe, invites any random person off the street to wander in the house. Do people in safer occupations, with more normal backgrounds, always see danger in signs like this, she wonders?

Henry is opening the front door before she can ponder on that long.

The inside of the house is… beautiful.

It’s not too fancy, but there’s space - so much of it. The style is a bit modern, and there's floor to ceiling windows overlooking a rather stately, private backyard.

The second thing she notices is Roland must be a very popular child. The house is swimming with guests - most of them adults. Several women in pearls and sundresses are chit-chatting to her left, a few men with beers down towards the kitchen.

She recognizes Ruby, leaning over an arm of a couch talking to some guy who looks absolutely _smitten_ with her.

But whatever Ruby’s talking about doesn’t seem too terribly important because the second she sees Regina and Henry she jumps up and rushes towards her.

“Regina, good to see you. And Henry, I’m Ruby, we met at the picnic.”

“I remember you!” Henry assures, clutching his towel anxiously.

“You must be excited to go swim! All the other kids are by the pool, the entrance is down there,” she points to an open door that Regina assumes leads to a basement. “There’s also a bunch of games down there.”

Henry’s eyes light up, but he’s a good kid, he still looks to Regina for permission to run off.

“Go ahead,” Regina permits, scruffing his hair fondly. He scowls just a bit at that, glances around as if he’s making sure no one saw the motherly action. It stabs at her heart a little, seeing him already embarrassed of her affections.

“Good kid,” Ruby compliments. “There are a couple of brats around here Henry could teach a thing or two.”

She wonders if she’s that obvious, if these people know that the key to her heart is complimenting Henry.

But maybe not everyone who compliments her is out to get something in return, so she smiles back and thanks Ruby.

So,” Ruby says, motioning to the house, “have you been here before? ”

Regina shakes her head, and takes it as an invitation to look around. “It’s really nice.”

“Yeah, Marian had a sense of style, and Robin hasn’t changed much.” Ruby nods over to the mantel, towards a cluster of framed pictures. One in particular catches Regina’s eye. It’s of a beautiful woman in a wedding dress with her arms around Robin, turning towards the camera and laughing. It’s a lovely shot, clearly an impromptu snap of a happy couple celebrating. Robin’s eyes are focused on her, and he looks entirely enamoured.

Regina feels like she’s intruding, staring at the two of them, frozen in time… but it _is_ on display and Ruby did point it out to her. So she walks up, and takes the frame in her hands, getting a better look of the woman who held Robin’s heart.

She’s beautiful.

Regina expected as much (Robin is a handsome man, himself, and Roland is adorable). But she hadn’t expected her to be _this_ beautiful. Her skin is the color of honey, rich walnut hair shining in the sunlight, her mouth open, revealing pearly white teeth. And there’s a visible sparkle in her deep brown eyes. Everything about her just screams _alive_ and _carefree_ and _pure._

“That’s her,” Ruby says softly. “Marian. She was so fun.”

“She looks like it,” Regina agrees. She hates herself for already measuring herself up to this woman that has no role in her life. She’s no reason to lament the fact she’s not as pretty, or as joyful as the woman in the photograph staring back at her.

“Come on, let me get you a drink,” Ruby says after a moment, walking towards the kitchen. “We’re going to need it with that gaggle of moms squawking about god knows what, hanging around just to throw themselves at Robin.”

She wants to cry out over the injustice of it all. Robin is a widower, still obviously grieving, and no one should be _throwing themselves_ at him when he is still vulnerable. But that’s not truly the reason she is upset. There is an undercurrent of possessiveness that ripples through her, the steady beat of a voice that echoes _Mine._ And she has no right to feel that way, not at all, but here she is. Jealous and worried that one of those women may steal his heart and break the fantasy Regina has of Robin offering it to her.

“What’ll it be?” Ruby asks, pointing to a large table full of drinks, bottles of white wine and beer in a bucket of ice, a few reds on the end.

“Just a glass of water,” she answers with a smile. Yes, most of the people in the room seem to have an alcoholic beverage of sorts in their hand, but Regina has to care for her son. And meet with Mulan. And drive home.

Ruby cocks her head. “Fine, but no one will judge you if you want a beer, you know.”

“Stop trying to get my guests drunk,” a familiar voice says behind Regina. She turns around, and _good god_ he looks nice today. He’s so casual, a plain white tee shirt and grey board shorts (they may be swim trunks, she’s not sure), but he looks so damn good, all sunkissed from a day outside, hair a bit scruffed, a warm glow of sweat around his temples and neck. He smells like suntan lotion and soap, everything pure and clean.

He throws an arm around her and kisses her cheek like it’s nothing — but it’s not. She’s so comfortable with him, so at ease with touching him, being touched and close. She’s never been like that with any man in recent history, never been able to be so close and affectionate without a wave of dread riding within her. But that’s why it’s so significant, isn’t it? Not since Daniel has she sought out the affection of a man. It’s… kind of wonderful, and a bit frightening.

She catches Ruby smirking at them and it makes her cheeks heat. And then she’s rolling her eyes playfully at Robin before teasing, “I was just saying, Robin, that some of these people need to loosen up.”

“I don’t think Rachel needs to loosen up any more,” Robin sighs, stealing a glance into the living room, as if he’s checking to see if she may appear.

“God, can she ever not take a hint,” Ruby grimaces, turning to Regina. “One of Roland’s friends’ mom has her sights set on Robin. Well, many of them, but this one in particular. And she gets more desperate every time I see her, I swear...”

“It’s not that bad,” Robin insists, though his ears are very red and his cheeks are increasingly turning crimson, suddenly too shy to even meet their eyes. “She’s nice. She’s just going through a tough time, and she’s just a bit—“

“She’s awful,” Ruby finishes, turning to Regina with a smirk. “I always tell him there are plenty of interested ladies with kids Roland’s age, but—“

Regina raises an eyebrow at Robin, a questioning glance. Why did he ever use her services when he obviously has a group of women who’d be happy to throw down for free?

“I didn’t — I _don’t_ want a—“ Robin stutters, then scowls. “Come on Ruby, quit it.”

“Mmm, whatever you say boss,” Ruby winks. “Just saying there are plenty of options out there. I’m going to get back to Peter, before those women eat him alive.”

She leaves them, alone together in a way that seems slightly pointed and obvious.

“So…” Regina smirks, “Which one of the _plenty of interested ladies_ has your eye?” She cranes her neck to look at the few women chatting in the next room. One strikes her, a blonde in a small black tank top and white cutoff short. “The leggy blonde, perhaps?”

Robin snorts. “I’m afraid I only have eyes for the _un_ interested ladies,” he says with a thin smile. The implication is obvious, has her blushing on command, and she really ought to stop this, but it’s nice, flirting. And as long as she doesn’t lead him on and it doesn’t get in the way of their jobs… what’s the harm? “And you know what? She’s not exactly my type.”

Regina thinks back to the wedding photograph and smirks, thinking that in fact he _may_ have a thing for petite dark haired women. “Is that so?”

“Mmhm,” Robin says smiling back at her in that knowing way. “So, did you bring your swimsuit?” Your son is already out there in the pool.”

She had meant to, before Isaac Heller painted her neck and shoulders in purple bruises. But now, she’s not going to be removing this strategically worn outfit at all.

She thinks of _fun_ Marian, and how she would have probably shown up with swimsuit and coverup, ready for adventure and games. But she’s very much on display and can’t let anyone read her self loathing right now, so she pushes away the thoughts of her inadequacies, and forces herself to laugh.

“I’m not swimming at a child’s birthday. Especially not a five year old child’s birthday. I wouldn’t trust the content of that pool water by the end of the party.”

Robin laughs and tilts his head. “Fair point. But what if I I assured you that I invited potty trained children only, and it’s well chlorinated?”

“I’d tell you I still didn’t bring my bikini so your efforts are fruitless.”

He pouts a little before muttering “You’re no fun.”

She rolls her eyes and calls him a child, but the comment stings, even though she’s sure he only meant it in jest.

He’s pulled away then, and Regina moves on to introduce herself to the masses.

 

.::.

 

Regina doesn’t really relate to wealthy married mothers. She gets along with them, in doses, but she finds her life isn’t as relatable, being a single mom who works… quite a bit. She does relate to the fathers, the ones who have business trips and are always trying to squeeze in family moments. But in these moments she does what she can to fit in, uses the charm she has to make others feel comfortable, uses the social skills she’s developed as an escort to keep others comfortable.

But then the conversation shifts to Robin and Regina feels incredibly uncomfortable.

“My goodness, this is a nice house,” a woman named Marissa notes, looking around. “I mean I had heard Robin was doing well but this neighborhood is so _average_ that I hadn’t really expected _this._ ”

“He’s a founding partner of some new age progressive tech firm, I heard,” Charlotte says, “that explains why he’s loaded but still seems like such a kid at heart.”

“He’s at all the school meetings and all of little Roland’s baseball games, I’m not sure how he manages to do it with such a big job. He’s the cutest at those PTA meetings. Were any of you there when we were all arguing and he raised his hand and asked if we could take an intermission and go have a pint down the street?”

That sounds very _Robin,_ and isn’t it adorable? But Regina could tell them a thousand things he said that have been funnier or wittier, and she bites down the urge to do just that, to let them know she knows him better than they do, as if laying claim to him. But this isn’t high school and she’s not some girl with a crush, so she smiles warmly and says nothing.

“I don’t care _how_ he does it,” Marissa giggles, “He’s rich, sexy, and loves children. How the hell is he single?”

“Still a grieving widower. God, what is wrong with me, why is that so hot?” another asks dramatically, while others cackle.

What is wrong, indeed? As if any of them had experienced the type of loss Robin had, as if they could just make light of such a situation, laugh about how grief and pain makes him more attractive, it’s absolutely sick, and she needs to get out of here before she says so and causes a scene.

She’s never been more thankful to see Ruby approaching. She is wet from the pool. Her skin is dry enough, but her hair is matted in thick tendrils that drip onto the oriental rug, and she’s covered her bikini in a small towel that she’s wrapped around her body. She’s younger than most of the women in the room by a decade. Regina catches the way some of them look at her, and it infuriates her.

It’s a pool party. People are allowed to wear swim suits.

“Hey, Regina? Henry is looking for you. I think he wants to show you something. He’s downstairs with the rest of the kids.”

And frankly, that doesn’t sound like Henry. He’d find her himself if he had a problem, and he rarely wants to talk to her when there are activities outside. But Regina follows anyway, grateful for a chance to escape.

Once they are safely down the stairs Ruby shrugs and explains. “They didn’t seem like your style. I saw you at the picnic. You may dress like those women, but you are more into games than pearl clutching.”

Well, frankly, can she disagree?

“Thank you. I needed a way to excuse myself politely before I said something…. _im_ polite.”

Ruby chuckles and rolls her eyes. “Next time maybe say it. I’d love to see that.”

Ruby leads her out the sliding glass doors that lead from the basement to the backyard. The older children and Roland are in the pool, plus a few younger ones who are wearing swimmies. Other children are playing with squirt guns and a slip-and-slide type of thing. There are men and women scattered about in each area, including a group of men hanging by the patio grill with beers.

“Got her,” Ruby calls out, and only then does Regina spot Robin, his back to her as he mans the grill.

“Lovely,” he chuckles, looking over at Regina. “Ruby thought you might have more fun down here with us.”

“Indeed,” Regina gives, wrinkling her nose a bit.

“Regina!” Roland runs from the pool to the patio, turning into a skip when Robin reminds him there’s _No running by the pool._ His hair looks even cuter like this, somehow, all those curls lifting up despite being heavy with pool water, little upturned messy tendons that bounce as he moves. She readies herself for another wet hug, but Roland is clutching the towel around him instead, thankfully sparing her from a wet splotch on the front of her shirt.

“I saw Henry, he can go in the deep end and he knows how to dive! And he said he can teach me how to basketball.”

“Can he?” Regina asks, looking towards Robin.

“Well, he’d probably do a better job than I would, I’m horrible at the sport.” Robin teases. “Maybe Henry can help me teach you sometime.”

“Really?” Roland’s eyes light up at the idea before he is distracted with another, more pressing thought. “Regina, can you watch me jump into the pool? I’m going to do a cannonball!” Regina nods and tells him she won’t miss a second, and then he starts to run back to the pool for an instant before correcting himself, and walking.

She observes carefully, because Roland is five, and regardless of how well he might swim, cannonballs into crowded pools are a risky endeavor. She itches to tell him to not do it, but Robin is the parent, not her. And he certainly has no problem with it.

When Roland reaches the end of the pool he does a rather careful jump into the water, Legs tucked under his body at the last minute, barely making a splash.

Robin watches too, a little laugh escaping him as he watches him.

He is a good father. He knew he’d be safe.

She’s still focused on Roland playing in the pool, screaming and laughing with a few friends when Robin’s voice cuts in.

“You must be sweltering in that thing,” he points to her blazer, “There’s a coat rack down in the basement by the door. Feel free to take it off.”

“Stop trying to get me undressed,” she teases lightly.

“Never,” he says just above a whisper.

Her mouth falls open in a shocked smile. He’s right by an open grill, but she swears she sees him flush a deeper shade of red.

It _is_ hot out. And her blazer is covering only a small bruise she could have gotten anywhere, and hell, who cares?

So she does it, takes off her blazer, and instead of questions about the little bruise, she hears… a whistle. It’s a catcall type of whistle, funny, considering the top underneath is flush against her neck, not at all revealing.

She finds Robin looking quite proud of himself, shrugging at her as if he couldn’t help it.

“Stop it, you.” Regina can’t keep from grinning shamelessly.

Robin looks at her all cheeky and shrugs. “I’d try to control myself, but you said you liked the flirting,” he says just under his breath.

Her cheeks heat and her belly goes warm as she thinks about the fact that he’s shamelessly admitting _this_ is what it is. Flirting. At his son’s birthday.

She’s not sure why, but some of the nervous tension of being here melts completely away.

“I didn’t realize lunch would be served at this party,” Regina shifts the conversation into something more normal. “1:30 seemed a bit late for a meal. Henry already ate.”

“This is for some of the adults who didn’t eat,” Robin explains. “And there’s always a few kids who won’t eat and are suddenly hungry hours later. So…” He shrugs. “Better have something just in case.”

He’s kind of adorable whenever he’s being thoughtful and over prepared.

She chats there for a bit, with Robin and some other of his work colleagues.

Will takes over grill duty so Robin can “mingle” — but Robin doesn’t really do much more than stay by the patio. John swings by and introduces himself, formally. She’s seen him before, at the picnic, but hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to him. He tells him stories of Robin that make her laugh, Will occasionally shouts over to add a word in.

She feels comfortable with them, almost as if she’s known them for years.

“Hey Robin!” Mulan calls out as she opens the basement door and steps out onto the patio. She’s wearing cutoff jean shorts, and an oversized tee revealing electric blue bikini straps underneath.

“Hello, love. Pool’s open and waiting for you.”

Mulan cranes her neck to the pool area, to the 12 or so children either in the pool or running alongside it. “Looks a bit crowded.”

Robin laughs. “It’ll switch up after a bit. I have a scavenger hunt planned. That you can’t participate in, by the way.”

Mulan scoffs and then turns to Regina. “Good to see you. Your boy out there somewhere?”

Regina nods, pointing out Henry as he lifts himself out of the pool. “He’s made himself at home, it seems.”

Mulan chuckles. “Good.”

Mulan cracks a beer and stays a while, chatting with all of them.

It is nice, getting to know her more intimately, having Mulan get the same opportunity to know her. She doesn’t talk much about business. Mulan talks about her college days with Robin, shares an awkward childhood story or two, then shares a bit about her dating life, a bit (coming off a rather bad breakup — a broken engagement, as it was, and she has found it hard to find the courage to get close to anyone since).

“And how about you?” Mulan asks. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“An eight year old son leaves little time for dating.” And it’s bubbling up inside her, though it’s a subject she normally avoids, she can’t help herself. “Plus I had a nasty divorce that kind of ruined the idea of relationships for me. The love of my life is there,” she points to Henry. “I don’t really need anything else.”

Mulan scrunches her nose up, and admits, “Friend at the picnic pointed you out and said you were the ex-wife of one of the Blanchards, but I was going to be polite and not say anything. I don’t know anything about Leo, but that seems like a pretty tough family to be at odds with in this city. And since you aren’t decked out in diamonds and sitting pretty in some mansion I had assumed the divorce didn’t go well.”

“Mhm,” Regina admits, nodding her head. “But even if it had been perfectly amicable I doubt I would have those things. I wouldn’t have asked for alimony and Leo absolutely wouldn’t have given it to me.” She scrunches up her nose in disgust. “Not my style.”

“Well, cheers to that.” Mulan raises her beer in tribute before taking a sip. “I hate that aspect of wealthy society anyway, everyone forced into pretty little boxes and trying to have a contest over who can be the most boring. It’s all fake bullshit.”

“True…” Regina says carefully, knowing Mulan is talking about her role as CEO. And she still has a job to do, so she adds, “But sometimes it’s best to play the game. It may seem fake but… it keeps people comfortable. They like what is familiar. And people trust in the familiar. They _invest_ in the familiar.”

“Alright, alright,” Mulan groans. “I gotcha. Good point. It just all feels fake.”

“It is,” Regina concedes. “But it’s also not. You are still the same person. You’re not changing who you are. You’re just playing a role, when you have your CEO hat on.”

“I _always_ have my CEO hat on,” Mulan gripes. “This company is who I am.”

And Regina knows that, and that’s why this whole thing is so hard, isn’t it? It’s why she can’t be the face of the company. Why Robin has to be that.

“I get that,” Regina says. “But Robin, he… conforms on paper, doesn’t he? And he’s not boring or stuck up or fake.”

“So you’re saying I should be more like him?” Mulan snorts. “I’m not sure he’s so easily imitable. He’s kind of… unique.”

Regina looks over to him — he’s chatting with some woman, a pretty little thing decked in Lilly Pulitzer that Regina decides she _hates._ He catches her eye, and winks back at her in this cute, telling way, and a flutter of warmth flows through her middle. Damn it.

“He certainly is...” Regina mutters.

Mulan snort laughs. “Much too unique for Ana. That’s Will’s date, by the way, and Robin has zero interest in her. I can tell.”

“Oh,” Regina answers, trying not to look like she cares. “That’s… nice for Will.”

“Mhm… and nice for you, isn’t it?” Mulan gives her a knowing smirk and shit, this is entirely unprofessional. Her client is teasing her about her crush. But before she can argue, Mulan follows up her comment by changing the subject entirely. “Today’s a tough day for him, you know.”

She did know that. She knows what it’s like for Henry’s birthday, every year, when she thinks of how things would be if Daniel were there to celebrate with them.

“I figured…” she gives. But she can’t explain that she’s been through the same thing, can she? So she just smiles and says “I lost someone I loved. Um, it was before Leo. Car accident. It’s been years, but some days are still tough.”

“How long ago?” Mulan asks.

“Just about 9 years,” she whispers. And then it hits her, if Mulan does the math…

Shit. She’s going to think she’s as awful as everyone else does.

But it doesn’t seem to bother her at all. Mulan just nods sympathetically. “Maybe that's why Robin seems to open up to you so much more than anyone else.” She murmurs, and then, “I’m sorry. That must have been awful, I didn’t know.”

Regina waves it off, but before she can assure her she doesn’t mind, John thankfully shows up, putting an arm around Mulan and asking what she wants on her burger.

 

_.::._

 

It’s a sweet party, really. She spends time getting to know Robin and Mulan quite a bit, and Ruby, and many of Robin’s friends. And Henry has been having a blast, playing in the pool, participating in games, throwing himself into this new group of children.

When the children are told to sit down for birthday cake, Roland grabs Henry by the hand and directs him in to sit next to him. Something about that has her feeling warm and soft, that Roland is so taken with her son in such a short time. She hears Robin chuckle softly next to her, watching the two of them, and something tells her that he is thinking the same thing.

It’s a loud and silly chorus of _Happy Birthday_ , and a superhero themed cake that makes Roland squeal in excitement. She’s standing behind Henry and next to Robin and Mulan and it feels… a bit _too_ perfect, a bit too homey. They really don’t know each other this well, people Robin has known for a decade are around him, and yet she feels elevated to this level of closeness she doesn’t really deserve.

It feels nice, and right, and wrong at the same time. She’s just visiting this life. It’s not meant for her. It’s then that she notices the time, and Regina hates to do it, but Henry has practice at 5, and they really should be leaving at 4 so he has time to get ready and pack his overnight bag.

So she leans over him, as he chats with Roland about god knows what, and whispers, “Honey, remember we have to leave right after presents. You have practice and then a sleepover.”

A boy she’s heard referred to as Marcus interrupts. “I have to go home soon too because it’s _my_ _mom’s_ birthday today too and we have to help make dinner,” he explains.

“On my momma’s birthday we eat chinese food because it was her favorite,” Roland says, smiling broadly.

“But we have to cook. It’s different for you because your mom isn’t alive you don't have to do things for her anymore.” Marcus says, and _fuck_ , everyone freezes.

Marcus’ very embarrassed father ushers him away, apologizing profusely, and then there’s a perplexed Roland staring at his birthday cake, and three awkward adults wondering how to best handle the situation.

“We still do stuff for momma,” Roland says, looking at his cake. “She likes it when we do things for her, I know she does.”

“I know she does too! We do stuff for my dad too—-” And Henry's face goes pale as he looks at his mom in fear.

He’s not supposed to _ever_ mention that Daniel is his real father but in this moment, she can’t fault him.

“Your daddy died too, Henry?” Roland asks, and _crap_.

“His godfather,” Regina says, “a special man who was just like a father to him. So Henry knows, Roland. About all the things you still like to do for people after they go to heaven.”

That appeases Roland well enough, but when she glances at Mulan, there’s a knowing, sympathetic smile, and god damn it, she knows something is up.

Robin rubs a hand on her back, and then bends down to whisper a thank you in Henry’s ear. Seconds later, Ruby asks if Roland would like ice cream on his cake, and the tense, sullen mood cracks and crumbles, making way for something more playfully and celebratory to rise in its dust.

Good.

 

.::.

 

After presents are opened, Roland decides to jump in the pool. Robin follows, as do some of the kids and parents.

And she forgets herself for a moment, admiring Robin all shirtless and wet, before she remembers she’s on a bit of a time crunch. She looks down at her phone and winces at the time. She needs to get Henry to practice _now_ if they are going to be on time.

“You know, after you drop Henry off, you should come back here and help us wrap up the party,” Mulan offers. When Regina looks at her in confusion, she shrugs “You look like you are pressed for time and I don’t think you'll be able to say a proper goodbye amongst all of… this. And you know, the party will go on for awhile, and we could all use the company. So just come back.”

She wants to.

It’s odd, parties full of strangers aren’t normally her thing but she wants to come back. Should not want to, but does. She will be going back to an empty house for the entire night, and she hasn’t had that since… god knows when.

“Party ends at 6, I will barely be back before it ends,” she reminds.

But Mulan shrugs, as if time were inconsequential. “These things run late, especially the way this present opening is going. The party will be in full force when you get back. You know he’d like to see more of you, so just come back.”

And ok, it’s Mulan asking and she wants her to trust and like her, right?

Plus… she wants to spend more time with Robin.

“Maybe….” she says. And then she calls Henry over and tells him to say goodbye to Roland and Robin. He finds Robin first, leaning over the edge of the pool to give him a hug, as Robin leans up to hear him. She watches Robin point in the direction of Roland, who has run out of the pool over towards some kids playing with a droid, and Henry nods, trotting off and getting himself in what appears to be a very involved conversation with the birthday boy. They can’t be late, so she excuses herself and works on tearing Henry from his conversation.

She doesn’t even have time to wave in Robin’s direction before she leaves.

 

.::.

 

Coming back to a child’s birthday sans child is a bit awkward, and more than once she thinks of just driving home, because this is ridiculous.

She wants to see him, however, and there’s that guise of business to fall back on, so she ignores the voice in her head that doesn't want her to have this, doesn’t want her to get close to anyone, ever again for any reason.

That voice has made her so, so lonely, it’s time she stop listening to it.

Robin greets her with a raised hand from the pool, and Mulan calls her name and begs her to get in the pool and live a little. There are other women, other mothers, coworkers, in the pool, jumping in and having fun. Some of the more annoying women in bright, floral bikinis, their skin tanned and dark from a summer at play.

If she wasn’t all marked up, perhaps she could jump in the pool too. But she’d have worn a simple black suit, and her skin is still porcelain colored, a glaringly obvious sign she has failed to take time to enjoy life the way her peers do.

There’s a tinge of jealousy, of their life, their perfect bodies, and her overused, worn out one.

She’s not usually so awful, comparing her assets to others, wondering if the blonde near Robin has breast implants, because they certainly look too perfect, too big, to be real. And she certainly isn’t continuing to glance over at Robin to see if he’s enjoying the view of all these overexposed body parts (parts she can’t compete with, in some ways). And definitely not taking time to appreciate how _he_ looks shirtless, tanned and dripping in the sunlight, because that’s really not something that interests her.

She doesn’t really fit in this world, with happy people whose biggest stress might be running out of organic goat’s milk. They’re out there having a great time and she’s such a spectator, here on dry land.

She should go.

But before she even has an opportunity to do so, Mulan is running towards her.

“That was quick,” Mulan says, twisting her wet hair into a tight spiral, squeezing out excess water.

Regina nods, and clears her throat. “I actually, was uh, I forgot about—“

Mulan’s not listening, she’s glancing over Regina’s shoulder instead. And then she snorts, loudly enough to break up her train of thought.

Regina spins around to find Robin headed in her direction, apparently abandoning whatever conversation he was just in to come towards her .

“Well, this is a nice surprise,” he says, his voice a little thin and uncertain. “Thought you left without saying goodbye.”

“I told Regina she should drop Henry off and come right back,” Mulan says quickly, “Henry had practice and then a sleepover, is that right, Regina?”

“Yes…” she says tentatively. “I didn’t want to pull you from your guests, so I just thought I’d drop by to say a proper goodbye when you had time—“

“No, stay,” Robin says quickly. “These things tend to go late, anyway. And we’ve got dinner coming for some of the stragglers and there’s no way we will be able to finish it.”

“Definitely stay,” Mulan insists, “it’ll give me someone to talk to that doesn’t bore the absolute shit out of me.”

“I didn’t bring a swimsuit,” she needlessly reminds, ”I should leave you all—”

“Regina!” Roland runs to her. He’s mostly dry from the earlier dip in the pool, it seems he’s been playing hard, his cheeks flushed and red. “Regina you _have_ to meet all my friends, come on, I told them about how you’re Henry’s mom and you’re so nice and you play _all the games_ not like the other moms, please, please come!”

He’s already trying to pull her towards the group of children playing badminton.

Robin laughs. “Looks like someone has a crush,” he teases.

“Takes after his father,” Mulan mutters.

Robin flushes red, and Regina shoots him a sweet smile.

And then she lets Roland drag her to meet his friends.

 

.::.

 

Roland is plays tour guide, and Regina feels unusually at ease with the crowd. She has the ability to make _others_ feel at ease, to pick up on what they need to hear or say, but it’s _work,_ it doesn’t normally come _natural_. It _does_ today, with Robin’s friends. When John teases her over a weak badminton serve, instead of feeling insulted or uncomfortable she just feels… welcomed and part of the group. When Will and Ana call her over, they share a story of babysitting Roland a few months back instead of making boring small talk, and it’s comfortable and easy. Then there’s Mulan and Ruby, who just seem to understand her in ways few people do. They barely know her, and she barely knows them, but it hardly feels like your typical chit chat with strangers.

“Hey,” Robin says warmly, jogging up to her. She turns around and smiles at him. He’s been catching her eye for the past hour, but they haven’t talked, and it’s actually quite nice to have _that,_ to not have to hang off of him like a security blanket, but feel comfortable in the same space.

“Do you want a cup of coffee — or tea?” he asks, “I think I’ve had my share of the sun today, I was going to go in for awhile. Wanted to know if you’d like to join me. Unless you have to go, that is. It is getting late.”

“Oh,” Regina says, looking at the dwindling crowd of guests left, checking her phone for the time. Perhaps she’s overstayed her welcome. “You know, maybe I _should_ go.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” he rushes to say. “That wasn’t a hint or anything, it’s just—”

Robin sighs and rubs his eyes, as if he’s frustrated with himself.

“What?” she asks, rather amused. God, he’s cute when he’s like this, when his normal confidence is shaken and he is tripping all over himself.

“When I heard Henry had a sleepover, I realized that… well you’re a busy woman...” She stares blankly back at him, utterly confused. “I didn’t want us to pressure you into cancelling any plans you may have had for your free night…”

Her eyes narrow as she tries to figure out what he’s saying. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I thought you might be using a free night for your second job, and I…” His cheeks are so, so red, and she knows it’s not the July sun that’s doing it. “Shit, I’m probably overstepping, it’s wrong to assume you’d—”

“No, you’re right,” she hears herself saying. The desire to assure him he hasn’t upset her is overwhelming. Or maybe just to have him _understand_ her. “Ordinarily I’d take advantage of the time, and I _did,_ but I, er, cancelled.”

His eyebrows raise, concern melting from his face replaced with this adorable lopsided smile that has her feeling warm all over.

“Good. Then I’d very much like you to stick around. And let’s get indoors. It’s hot as hell out here.”

She spends the rest of her time in the living room, drinking tea and reminiscing with more of Robin’s closer friends, until most of Roland’s friends from school have left, and it’s just Mulan, Ruby, Will, John and… her. And a panic wave of anxiety rises in her, the thought that she is overstaying her welcome consumes her mind.

She’s not used to being in a group of people, of _friends_. Not since her marriage to Leo isolated her from everyone, not since she gave up everyone who mattered in her life in some desperate attempt to give Henry a life she thought he deserved.

It is nice that Robin has this — friends who care, who support him, who are comfortable just drinking beer while Roland plays a new video game.

It probably helped, having _this_ after Marian died. A flicker of jealousy courses through her, and then sails off.

John’s teasing Robin about something, Mulan joins in, and they trade jokes and insults back and forth while she smiles and just soaks in the atmosphere that she has to admit she yearns for.

But she gave up any chance of that life the moment she accepted Leo’s proposal.

The video game makes a thunderous noise, and Roland stands up, controller in hand, and stomps his foot. It appears he’s lost whatever little battle he was fighting.

“Roland…” Robin said in a warning tone, “No one likes a sore loser. If you throw a fit I’ll have to take the game away.”

“But the game cheated!” he accuses, earning some laughter from the adults in the room.

He’s a good kid, though, he looks at Robin with his passionate, angry eyes, and Robin says nothing, just stares back at him pointedly, until Roland gives out a sigh of defeat.

“Fine, I’m sorry,” Roland says, earning a little nod of encouragement from his father..

“This game is boring anyway,” Roland adds, “Daddy, can we open momma’s present now?”

If Regina hadn’t felt out of place before, she certainly does now — _now_ , when she realizes she’s unintentionally invaded what appears to be a sacred ritual, or at least, a moment that should be between family and close friends. She doesn’t belong here, not now. She doesn’t fit.

Only a second passes before Regina’s off the couch, “I really should be going,” she says, refusing to make eye contact with anyone, “It’s getting late.”

There’s a murmur from the room, offering her goodbyes, but all she hears is Robin’s voice.

“Stay.”

“I shouldn’t, I should — “

Robin shakes his head and grabs her hand, as if to keep her from leaving.

It’s not a request for her benefit. It’s truly for him. He wants her there.

“Roland, why don’t you get your mum’s present and bring it down here?”

Roland smiles broadly, lets out a _Yessss!!_ and runs up the stairs.

Robin clears his throat awkwardly, and then says, “I like to keep this light, I don’t want him to cry over his mum… but, it can be hard for me to keep the mood from turning too somber...”

“We always stay for this,” Mulan adds with a shrug, “we’re here to make sure things are upbeat and happy. So as long as you don’t cry over this you can stay.”

It still doesn’t feel right, so she says, “I don’t want to intrude, this seems like something for you guys —”

“If you don’t feel comfortable, I don’t want to make you stay,” Robin says softly, and then, a voice full of vulnerability, “But I’d appreciate it. It’d mean a lot. I want you here.”

With that she nods and sits back down, a bit closer to Robin now, her hand still linked in his. She feels a bit on display now, with all eyes on them. It is probably already exceedingly obvious that there’s something between them, but at this point everyone must think it’s much more serious than it is. Robin and Regina are just friends, after all. Friends who met under unusual circumstances, friends who may have seen each other naked, friends who may exchange a few heated kisses, but friends nonetheless.

She’s relieved to hear Roland’s footsteps bounding down the stairs, the thumping steps a distraction from the moment of intimacy she shared with a grieving widower.

“I got it, I got it, I got it!!!” Roland shouts excitedly, first running to Mulan and showing her the beautifully decorated box before running to… Regina.

Mulan’s eyebrows rise as she smiles coyly at her.

This isn’t good, is it? To be close to Roland to this level? Not when she’s not meant to be in his life for long. And yet, it just feels right with him. So she won’t push him away. She never will.

“Regina!! LOOK! What do you think momma got for me?”

“I don’t know, Roland, I think it is a surprise!” she keeps her voice playful, and he nods, giddy with anticipation.

Mulan steps in, then, and adds “And we’re going to open it in a minute, but do you remember what happens first?”

“Momma sings happy birthday!” he shouts.

“Yes, that’s right!”

“This is the first time he’s remembered,” Robin whispers to Regina, before nodding, “That’s right my boy, Momma’s going to sing happy birthday.”

He grabs the tv remove, pops a few buttons, and then she’s on the screen.

Marian.

Regina’s seen a picture of her, sure, but Marian in video is quite a sight. She’s even more beautiful when you see the way she carries herself, her facial expressions, the way she moves.

Roland’s eyes are glued to her, “That’s her!” he shouts, and points to the screen. Regina’s the new one in this day, and he is old enough to know it, so he shouts her name, and says, excitedly, “Regina, do you see?!”

“She’s so pretty, Roland,” Regina answers, “What a wonderful momma you have.”

“She looks like me!” Roland proclaims, “We have the same color eyes and hair, not like daddy.”

“You’re very lucky, Roland.” Regina’s eyes dart playfully to the man next to her, “Your momma is much prettier than your daddy.”

It’s a lie, but it goes over well, and Robin laughs, scrapes fingers up her palm, and his son cackles, and then Robin adjusts the volume, and directs everyone’s attention back to the screen.

 _“It’s Roland’s First Birthday!”_ says a voice off-camera that is distinctly Robin, and it appears he’s holding the camera, _“And here’s his lovely mum.”_ Roland is in her arms, perfectly cradled and looking far too sleepy.

“That’s me!!” Roland cries, pointing at the screen. He turns to Regina, as if he remembers that she is the new one here. “Regina, do you see me?”

Robin’s hand grips hers more tightly, and she squeezes back, giving him what comfort she can.

“I do, Roland,” she says, trying her best to keep her tone light, not sad. God, if she broke into tears she’d never forgive herself.

_“Robin, put that down, the party’s over.”_

The background of the video shows what appears to be remnants of a birthday party, plastic cups littered on top of countertops, a few decorations still dressing the walls of their home.

 _“I am capturing every moment of this child’s life from sleep to wake,”_ Robin’s on camera voice sounds...happy. playful.

Robin chuckles a bit next to Regina and she smiles, remembering how she was in Henry’s early years.

 _“Well it’s bedtime, so you’re going to put it down soon,”_ she argues. _“And tonight, dear Roland, I’m going to sing you a special song to sleep.”_

And then Marian launches into a sweet, slow, version of Happy Birthday. Her voice is beautiful, it’s not over the top, not pop star quality, but it’s soulful and powerful in it’s own way.

The camera captures her singing to Roland, rocking him gently as he goes to sleep, and, in a move where Robin almost assuredly regrets, the camera zooms in on her cleavage for a second, before pulling back onto the child.

Regina can’t help but snicker, and Robin looks at her with a devious, proud smile on his face, before holding a finger to his lips and _shhhh_ -ing her. That’s right, she can’t quite explain to Roland why she’s laughing right now, can she?

When the song is over, Robin hits the button to turn the tv off, and Mulan and John and Ruby cheer, as Roland jumps up, begging to open his present now.

“Okay now, Roland, it’s time for your present!” Robin rises from the couch and crawls on the ground with Roland, helping him to first open the card.

Roland opens the card and sits down next to his dad, “This is from my momma,” he explains excitedly to the room for the millionth time, as everyone nods.

“Yes, I can read it to you, Roland, your mum told me what to write.”

“I can read, daddy!”

Regina raises an eyebrow and looks to Robin. He did just turn five, but she doubts he can handle an entire letter.

“Let’s try to read together,” Robin offers, and Roland snuggles down next to him.

“To...My...d-d-Dear Roland. I am so…” Roland concentrates, biting his lip, his brow knitted, and it’s a look she’s seen in his father before. It’s overwhelmingly adorable, incredibly sweet.

“Proud.” Robin finishes for Roland, when it looks like he won’t get the word. But Robin’s not faring much better, and the voice sounds choked and strained.

“Proud of...you. I love you ver-ver-y muck--mu-CH” he corrects himself quickly, “Happy b—-“

“Birthday,” Robin fills in, and Roland frowns, as if he should have known that one.

Roland’s brow knits in concentration over the next sentence. “I am ...wa-watc-”

“Watching you from heaven” Robin says softly, his voice cracking ever so slightly, telltale signs of the splinter in the well-crafted happy mood he’s trying to create. “Here, let me finish that for you.”

Robin clears his throat and takes in a deep breath, reading the rest of the letter. “I have been watching you play baseball…”

Roland’s eyes light up as he looks at the card, “Daddy, Momma knows I like baseball!”

“Yes, my boy, she does.” Robin’s voice is better now, you can hardly hear the pain in his voice. He finishes the card, his voice slightly more animated. “I hope you like my present. I love you very much, love momma.”

“Wow that’s a great card from your mom!” Mulan says, jumping in. It’s not lost on Regina, the way she directs his attention away from his father. She wonders how many birthdays Mulan has had to do this, to keep the mood positive. “I wonder what she got you?”

And then Roland jumps for the present excitedly. Robin springs into action after a few seconds, helping his son when he struggles to remove the ornate bow and ribbon, watching as he tears through the wrapping paper and opens the box.

“A BASEBALL GLOVE!” Roland says, looking at the glove excited, “And a baseball HAT!” and still more, a jersey of his favorite player, and he wants to put it on right now, but Robin tells him to wait, reminds him that he’s covered in cake and watermelon juice now, and they want to keep the jersey clean.

“Your mum told me to get you one more thing,” Robin said, “I disagreed with her, of course, I still say football is the proper sport, but…”

Roland digs around in the box, crumpled tissue paper making sounds, until he emerges triumphantly with some tickets. 

“BASEBALL TICKETS!!!!” He screeches excitedly, standing up to jump a bit, settling down on the ground, still looking at them.

“Yes, four of them, and your mum told me you get to invite anyone you want. So long as one of those people is me, of course,” Robin adds. Mulan reaches down from her chair to smack the back of his head.

“Roland, I’m sure your momma would be okay if you took your Aunt Mulan instead,” she offers.

“Your Uncle John is always available,” John adds.

“Your Aunt Mulan will buy you cheese fries,” she offers, with a mischievous look in her eye.

“Your Uncle John will take you to ice cream and —”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Robin chuckles, “Roland, take some time and think who you want to bring, yeah?”

“I wish I could bring Momma,” Roland says with a little sigh, and that cuts deep, reminds her of those moments where Henry says he wishes he could meet his real dad. She can only imagine what Robin is going through, especially when he looks like the wind’s just been punched out of him.

“Your mom will be there,” Mulan assures quickly, “She doesn’t need a seat, she watches from heaven, yeah?”

Roland thinks curiously and then looks to his father questioningly. Robin nods his head, his breath hitching a bit when he assures him, “She’s always watching, Roland. If you’re at the game, she is too.”

Things are in danger of going a bit sad, and Roland might catch on to the fact his father is holding back tears, when Ruby steps in.

“Roland, wanna play tennis?” she asks, turning on the wii.

It’s the perfect activity, and Roland is distracted with his aunts and uncles, playing tennis, enough to where he doesn’t notice his father leave the room and walk straight out the back door onto the patio.

Regina doesn’t dare move from her spot, but she follows him with her eyes, watching him leave. God, this has to be a hard day for him. When she looks back to the group, she finds Mulan and John looking at her.

“It’s a bit harder on him this year, I think” Mulan whispers. “Maybe because Roland’s getting older and he can ask more questions, because he remembers things… but…” she shrugs, “I dunno. Could be _other_ reasons.”

There’s an implication there, she just doesn’t know what it is.

Regina nods. “That’s… understandable.”

And Henry had already dropped the news earlier, and it’s exceedingly obvious she at least lost someone important so she adds, “I went through the same thing, in my own way.”

“I figured you’d know how it is,” Mulan reasons and then says barely above a whisper, “You should go check on him.”

“Me?” she asks, careful not to distract Roland from his game with Ruby, because truly, her? Shouldn't it be one of his better friends, someone who has gone through this with him before, someone who knows this a bit more?

Mulan tries to act breezy about the whole thing, shrugging her shoulders and asking “Why not you?”

There’s no sense pretending they aren’t… something more than work associates at this point. What that is she’s not sure, but right now, with Robin hurting, she doesn’t really care what assumptions people draw from her. She nods, walks to the kitchen and helps herself to two cold beers before joining Robin on the patio.

He’s bent over the railing, staring out into the backyard, so he doesn’t notice her until she is right next to him, taking her own place against the railing and handing him a beer.

He takes it with an appreciative smile.

“And that, right there, is why I can’t be trusted to do his little birthday ritual alone.” He says with a defeated sigh.

“And who would want you to? Roland likes sharing his mom with people. The more people are here the more festive the mood feels.” She smiles, and adds, “Roland loved his gift. And he clearly loves his mom.”

Robin takes a big sip of beer out of the bottle, wipes his mouth with his sleeve and draws out a breath. “He doesn’t remember her,” he admits, shaking his head, “Not that I expect him to, he was barely a year old when she passed…”

“But he gets to see her through your eyes. He still has memories of her. He has yours. And he appreciates them. I know… I know Henry appreciates what he knows of his father from me.”

“Yeah?” He asks. “Sometimes I think it will bore Roland, once he realizes that I’m the one buying his momma’s gift, that I can’t talk to her like he thinks I can. She won’t be magic, she’ll just be...”

“His mom. She will be his mom forever, and that is always going to be special. He will always want to hear about her.”

Robin nods, staring out at his back yard, breathing a wistful “I have lots of stories to share, at least.”

“She seemed wonderful, from what I saw of her on video,” Regina starts, and she sees him take another sip, this time the hand not holding the beer covers his forehead, rubs down his eyes for a bit. “Beautiful, and very maternal.”

“She was the love of my life,” he says, his voice wavering, “Had this amazing giant heart, always caring about everyone and everything. She could be tough, too, you two would get along great. She didn’t take crap from anyone. She was bloody incredible.”

The sincerity drips out of his voice, every single word punctuated, and it nearly makes her shiver. Perhaps a part of her should feel jealous of the love he had for Marian, given the fact she… feels things for Robin. But it’s odd, there’s only a warm, comforting feeling surrounding her, because she feels the same about Daniel. And she gets it, the desire to tell people how truly amazing Daniel was is overwhelming sometimes. So she answers him, tells him what she knows he wants to hear. “I know she was. You two made a perfect child together. And everyone speaks so highly of her.”

“I handled this better last year, you know.” He takes a deep sip and looks at her with a sad smile. “The real reason why I was so upset at that picnic, and why I’m a blubbering mess now? It’s not that I miss her. It’s that… I don’t as much. She’s not at the forefront of my mind the same way she was — she’s there, but, not in the same way. I have to really work at it to get the, to feel the—“

“You have to really think about it to feel the pain,” Regina finishes for him. She shrugs. “Some days it will come back to you, hard. And you’ll wonder why you ever missed it, at all. And then a few weeks later you won’t remember what the pain feels like and you’ll crave it again. It’s an abusive relationship with grief. I’m in one, too.”

He chuckles at that, thank god, and she’s able to smile back.

He takes a deep breath in and asks, quite unexpectedly, “Marian died shortly after Roland’s first birthday, did I tell you that?”

“You didn’t have to. I did the math,” Regina admits quietly. He cocks his head and she explains. “You told me that she died about four years ago, and she was alive for Roland’s first birthday so I figured it hadn’t been much longer.”

“Yeah,” he says, “not much longer than that. And I didn’t see it coming so I just think of all the things I would have said and done had I known.”

“Me too,” Regina admits. “You keep thinking about the last time you said _I love you_ , the last time you fought, what a waste of a time that last fight was…”

“Yeah,” Robin says, shrugging. “Exactly. I fought with her on Roland’s birthday. It was over soon, we forgot about it by the evening, but the whole morning was wonky. It was just some stupid stuff about the amount of people being invited, she thought there should be more food, and I thought…” He trails off and sighs. “In any case, I’ll always order double amount the food anytime we throw a party.”

Regina thinks of the abundant bowls filled with pretzels, or chips, or candy on every corner of every table, how Robin was grilling up hamburgers, despite the fact that the party started after lunchtime and was supposed to end before dinner. It makes sense.

“I went through that. I hated all types of sports before Daniel died,” she admits quietly. “Except for baseball, but even then I would only watch, never play. Daniel would always try to get me on his softball team, this league he was in just for fun. I had no interest. But now....” She smiles, he knows. He’s seen her play with Henry. “I knew Daniel would have wanted Henry to be part of a team, to play some sort of sport. So I went overboard and enrolled him in everything that was available for him. And then I gave it a real shot and learned. I probably should have gotten involved in it a lot sooner, a lot of memories I didn’t make because I was afraid of being awful and embarrassing myself.”

“But you can’t turn back time,” Robin says with a sad smile.

“No, no one can.” Now she takes a deep swig of beer. It’s odd, so freeing, being able to talk about this. But Robin is suppressing something, she knows he is. “What is it?”

He doesn't answer right away, just sips his beer and stares off into space.

“I just wanted to thank you for sticking around. And for checking on me. You didn’t have to.” He’s playing with the beer bottle label a bit now. It’s wet from condensation, and his fingers scratch and tear at the soggy paper nervously.

“I wanted to,” she reminds him. She needn’t, he should know, but it’s nice to hear.

He smiles sheepishly. “That’s the mother in you, always trying to make everyone feel alright.”

“No,” she says too honestly, before she can rethink herself. “I don’t think there is any part of me that feels like _mothering_ you.”

He laughs then, eyes still a bit wet, it’s a bit of a choked out half-chuckle, half sob. She smiles back a bit, not hiding the blush she feels creeping across her cheeks.

There’s a bit of silence, the air feels a bit charged from her joke, but she fights the urge to keep it from going too soft, too emotional, because now is not the time to end up kissing again, not when he’s hurting over his wife.

“By the way, I like your idea. Keeping the moment light. I tried that too, but… well, I didn’t have many people to help me. So when I got too emotional it ran the risk of ruining things.”

“With Henry?” she nods, nodding again when he asks “With his real father?”

“Yes. Daniel. My fiancé.” She smiles and shakes her head. Might as well tell him everything. “We were so young and thought we knew everything. So in love, we never thought about consequences. We were fearless. And then he died, and suddenly I became afraid of everything.”

“You don’t strike me as fearful in the least,” Robin says truthfully.

“Not anymore.” Regina admits. “But when I was pregnant and alone, everything scared me. Not being able to give Henry the life he deserved, the life I _thought_ he deserved? I had never grown up without money. My parents were well off, and had just cut me off, I didn’t think I was enough.”

“You _were_ enough, though.” He reaches out to comfort her, runs a hand through her hair, and down her spine. It’s a nice, tingling feeling, makes her feel appreciated, cared for. And that brings its own wave of guilt as she remembers why she came out here in the first place.

Regina takes a step back and grimaces. “I’m sorry. I’m making this all about me. I’m here for _you.”_

His face softens at that, assuring her, “You’re not making it all about you. I’m asking about you,” Robin reminds. “It is nice to share with someone who feels something similar. What do you and Henry do for Daniel?”

She grimaces, and then admits, “We’d celebrate Daniel’s birthday before I could really even tell Henry who he was, or explain it all to him. Daniel liked banana and blueberry pancakes, so I would make those, and then I would make burgers for dinner and have apple cinnamon crumb cake for dessert, we would look over his pictures, and read a Berenstain Bear book at bedtime… he always loved those, told me we should start a collection as soon as he discovered I was pregnant… we did these things, but Henry didn’t know _why,_ at first. Then I tried to explain, in my own way, told him that Daniel was his _other_ father, his father in heaven. Leo of course forbid things like that — said we couldn’t ever tell Henry that we were lying about who his father was — he claimed it was too risky. It’s something I didn’t think about when I married Leo.” She rolls her eyes, “It all happened too quick.” She stares off into the distance, thinking of that dark time when she first realized exactly what she signed up for with that marriage. “It was pretty awful.”

“I can’t imagine.” He says it so powerfully it almost makes her shake.

She grimaces, caught in the whirlpool of frustration over how naive and stupid she was in her youth. Fuck, this is not where she needs her head to be right now, she needs to focus on him. Still, she can’t resist muttering a self-loathing “I was _such_ an idiot.”

“No you weren’t. Regina, I had my mum and dad, I had friends, financial stability, and all the resources in the world, and I still felt like I was drowning. If part of you is still, in any way, still blaming yourself for—”

“Of course I blame myself.” Regina scoffs. “Daniel can’t be celebrated the way Marian can. I agreed to take Henry’s paternity away from him. That’s priceless. I am trying to make up for it, but I made a deal with the devil and I got burned. It was a stupid decision. One I have to live with.”

“I would have made the same stupid decision if I were you,” Robin says, simply with a shrug.

Now _that_ simply cannot be true. The perfect man in front of her would never ruin Marian’s memory for the promise of financial comfort. He wouldn’t whore himself out the way she did. Does, actually.

She sighs and shrugs her shoulders, shaking her head softly. “No, you wouldn’t. I know you. You would have fought tooth and nail to do what was right.”

ButRobin is adamant, tilting his head and staring into her eyes. “You know me _now_. You didn’t know me when I was recently widowed, with an infant son it turns out I hadn’t a clue how to raise on my own. Grief can be all-consuming. So much so that you just can’t think straight.” He looks at her with some sympathy. “I was there, Regina. I know. Let’s not forget, the things I have done have been far from noble. You were backed into a corner and a manipulative sociopath used your desperation to his advantage. Stop blaming yourself, the blame is on him. Not you.”

Her eyes fill with tears she tries hard to bit back. She always assumed everyone would be truly revolted at her if they knew what she did, and knowing that he isn’t means more than she would have known.

“Thank you,” she says, feeling something clenching around her heart. “It feels good to talk about this…and I'm sure you know but if this ever got out, the fact I was sharing this, to Leo—”

“I won’t tell a soul,” he smiles, crossing his heart emphatically. “But I am going to keep telling you that you can’t blame yourself for anything other than raising an extraordinary young boy under incredibly difficult circumstances. I could barely do it under the best of circumstances. I think about that, sometimes. About how Marian would see me these past few years. She would not have been pleased with how I’ve held it together.”

“I doubt that,” Regina says, blinking back tears. “Roland knows who his mother is, and he knows how loved she is. He loves her, and that’s hard to do. And you are in love with her still. It’s been years and you haven’t even looked to date someone.” She bites down her own guilt, shuts out the memory of her quickie wedding to Leo weeks after Daniel’s death. “I married Leo a little over a month after Daniel’s death. If he’s up there, somewhere, I don’t want to know what he thinks of me.”

“Daniel probably thinks that Henry is the luckiest child in the world, to have a mother willing to go through hell for his happiness. And he’s happy, a well-adjusted, perfect child. That wouldn’t have been easy no matter what choices you made. Doing this alone isn’t easy. Roland… I owe most of how he turned out to Mulan and John.”

“I don’t believe that,” Regina says quickly.

“Well, it is true. At least at first. And as for not even looking to date anyone? That is part of the reason I’m upset. I’m… I don’t know, feeling like I don’t want to be a bachelor for the rest of my life. And even just saying that out loud, that makes me feel so damn guilty—”

“You shouldn’t feel guilty about that. You’ve mourned for years and now you are healing,” Regina reminds and her free hand goes up his spine and falls on his shoulder, rubbing there gently. God, it feels nice. Every touch, however innocent, in any situation, seems to affect her more than it should. “It is what is supposed to happen. And I doubt Marian would want you alone forever.”

“Oh, she definitely wouldn’t,” He grimaces. “Marian wrote me a letter right before her surgery. I guess she had a feeling it wouldn't go well…” His eyes get misty, but this time he recovers quickly, that little haze of tears evaporate with a few blinks. “She told me she didn’t want me to live like this. She wanted me to move on. She wrote that it was her dying wish that I find a new person to love, and help raise Roland. I was so angry at her for asking that of me for so long I’ve been stubbornly refusing to even open myself up to the possibility.” He takes a sip of his beer, the last of it, it seems. He plops it down on the railing and wipes a hand through his hair. “And now it turns out it may be what I want after all, to have another partner, and I have her blessing, more than that. And I feel guilty for being so angry for so long just because she asked this of me.”

There’s something relieving about knowing he’s been given the permission to move on, and any feelings he may have developed for Regina haven’t been the cause of his guilt or discomfort.

Because he’s made his feelings clear, and part of her knows the reason why he may be thinking he could move on is because he’s harboring a little crush for her.

So at least she’s not to blame for his pain. This time.

“There’s nothing to feel guilty about,” Regina sighs. “Anger is normal. Even misplaced anger. Who cares how long it took you to get here? You’re here now. Let go of all the past anger, and start new.”

Robin shares with her an appreciative grin and then shakes his head. “Alright then, we should get back inside before my son worries about me.” She starts to walk towards the sliding glass door when he calls out, “And thank you again. For every single thing you said out here. It all meant a lot.”

She nods and gives him a smile in place of words, hoping he realizes how special it was to _her_ as well, And then turns and walks back into the living room, bracing herself for questions and jokes about their long absence.

But it’s Robin’s friends, and they are kind. No one says a word about it. They welcome her back into the conversation, as if she’s always belonged.

After a few moments, Roland lets out a loud yawn and asks, “Can I have another piece of cake?”

Robin laughs, “No, my boy, I think you’ve had your sugar for the day. But it does seem to be a little late, I think it’s time to have a bath and go to bed.”

Roland frowns, “But I don’t want to, I want to stay up with you!”

“Roland, was that your bathroom, the one up at the top of the stairs?” Regina asks, thinking of the bathroom she used when the downstairs powder room was full, earlier today.

He nods vigorously.

“I saw some fun bath toys when I was in there, it looked like one turned the bathwater a different color! I bet that’s fun to play with,” Regina says with a smile.

He nods his head again, “ _And,”_ he adds, “I have colored foam _and_ crayons for the bath!”

“Do you?” Regina asks, “I don’t think I’ve seen that before. You are so lucky.”

“Would you like to see? I’ll show you them!”

The realization that she was just invited to bath time hits her hard. For a second she feels like she’s definitely overstepping, but then Mulan chuckles.

“Looks like Regina just got stuck with bath duty. Enjoy it, it’s a blast.”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Robin assures her, “I’ll take him, it won’t be an issue.”

“No, I want _Regina,”_ Roland whines, looking at her with puppy dog eyes that could just about melt her, if there were a shred of ice left in her veins to begin with. 

“I’ve got it.” Regina assures. “You stay here and enjoy your friends. I’ll get you when he’s ready for bed.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Robin scowls. “I can’t ask you to do that. Sit down, relax. Let me handle it.”

“You’re not asking,” Regina reminds. She doesn’t think it’s a lack of trust that has him hesitant to accept, he looks more… worried about putting her out. So she adds, “Roland asked.” She rubs a hand down through his curls and smiles at him. “And I really miss this age. Henry is growing up far too fast. So let me handle it. Roland and I will have fun, won’t we, Roland?”

“Yes! And I can show her the ferry and my flutes!”

“Yes, the flutes.” Robin cringes. “Are you _sure_ you’re alright with this, he can be a handful and—”

“Robin I’ve done bathtime with a five year old hundreds of times. I know the deal.” She cocks her head, trying to figure out if she’s misread him. “Unless you’d rather I not, in which case I’d totally understand. I was really picky about who Henry spent time with when he was Roland's age too.”

“No, that’s not it at all,” he assures. “I just want to make sure you’re certain about this.”

“She _is,”_ Roland scoffs, taking her hand. “Come _on,_ Regina, I can show you all my toys!”

She laughs and lets him lead her up the stairs. She turns back when she’s about halfway up to find Robin watching her, looking proud and amused at his son and his bossy ways.

“Be back soon,” she waves.

“No,” Robin laughs, “No, you won’t.”

 

.::.

 

He doesn’t take his eyes off them the entire trip up the stairs, watches and listens for as long as he can. When Regina asks, “And where are your towels?” Robin is about to run up and show her, but then Roland is answering with a quick “my special towels are in my room. And I get to wear the Sully towel tonight!” and he figures he should let Regina handle it and stay down stairs. He would join her - would rather be with her in this moment, but she wanted to do this alone, and he certainly doesn’t want her to think he’s supervising her.

“Earth to Robin,” John snickers, and then he remembers there’s a room full of people watching him pine over her at the foot of the steps.

“Sorry, what?” Robin asks, sheepishly.

“I asked you if you wanted a drink,” Will answers with a laugh. “But clearly you’re already drunk on _love.”_

“Oh, give him a break,” Mulan says sternly, hitting Will in the torso. “I think it’s cute.”

“It’s not anything,” Robin grumbles sitting down on the couch with a sigh. “We’re just friendly. She’s working with us. She’s nice.”

“So am I,” Will retorts teasingly. “But I don’t recall you constantly checking on me to see how I’m doing, or watching me walk up the stairs all longingly.”

“Let’s be real here a second,” Mulan cuts in, “you’re a nice guy Will, but watching you walk up the stairs doesn’t exactly seem anywhere near as fun as watching Regina. And I say that with love, as someone who isn’t currently smitten with the woman.”

There’s laughter, but Robin grimaces. “Seriously, I’d prefer if you didn’t tease her about this. There’s nothing between us. She’s made it clear she just wants to be friends.”

He doesn’t really realize what he’s said until the mood shifts, and things go a bit somber.

“But _you_ want it to be more?” John asks. “That’s great, I mean—”

“I didn’t say that!” Robin interrupts, quickly, “I’m just telling you that she’s made it clear that our relationship—”

“Relationship?” Ruby asks curiously as Mulan almost spits out her beer.

“I mean it, it’s nothing. So can we just drop it?”

“We can,” Ruby agrees. “But you’ve been fawning all over her. And she definitely checked you out when you were in the pool. Also, at least a dozen other times since she’s been here.”

“She’s very subtle and innocent about it,” Mulan notes with a chuckle. “It’s actually kind of sweet.”

Robin feels his ears burn, his cheeks already hot and he’s sure he’s blushing something fierce. He hadn’t noticed any of this. Of course it is always possible that it didn’t happen, that Mulan and Ruby are trying to bulk his confidence, so he actually does try to ask her out. Which he never would, because the woman doesn’t want a relationship.

He knows she doesn’t. She may enjoy a good snog with him, may enjoy his company, but whatever she feels isn’t enough to leap into a relationship. And he’s not sure he even is ready for that. He wants her, wants more of that intimacy and connection he feels, but maybe if she were available, if it was right there…

Maybe he would fuck this all up. He’s still emotionally stunted. And then she’d leave him, and he’d lose all of this.

So what he has with her now is pretty wonderful. A friendship where he can flirt shamelessly with her, and confide in her, and share with her, offer her a bit of comfort. It’s nice. It’s safe. If he could see her more regularly, it would be close to perfect.

But his friends don’t need to know there’s anything else, and he couldn’t (and wouldn’t) tell them their whole story anyway. So instead he rolls his eyes and says, “I’m pretty sure you guys are seeing things. She’s a lovely woman, a good friend, but we’re not going there.”

“Right, she’s only just spent the majority of Roland’s birthday party here without her son, and is now giving the birthday boy a bath.” John snorts.

But Robin shrugs and reminds John, “None if you have any children and you’ve been here all day. And I’m fairly certain if I asked you to bathe Roland—”

“Aw that’s different, mate. We’re your _friends.”_

Will walked right into his point, and Robin smiles slyly. “Yeah, and so is she.”

There’s murmurs of disagreement, but no one seriously tries to distinguish their years of friendship with his newfound one with Regina, and he feels quite smug about it.

“Well, I was thinking of heading out early tonight, and now that I know you’re in good hands…” Mulan gets up, fixes her shorts. “I love you, Robin, but I’ve had my share of family fun. I'm hitting up a bar.”

“I’m coming with you!” Ruby says quickly, “Peter said he’d meet me wherever.”

“Shall we go to the Poison Apple?” Mulan asks.

“Ana just went home to shower, she’s been begging me to go out,” Will say in a hurry.

John doesn’t even give an excuse, he just walks towards the door with them, winking at Robin as he leaves.

Great. Just great. His so-called friends are walking towards the front door, giving him these knowing looks that make him want to scream. And he tries half heartedly to get them to stay, but he doesn’t want to deny them a night out. So he lets them go, and hopes Regina doesn’t read too much into it when she comes downstairs to a nearly empty house.

 

.::.

 

Robin was right. Regina is going to be here awhile. It seems Roland enjoys bathtime quite a bit, despite initially protesting having one.

He reminds her very much of Henry at his age. Bubbly, excited about everything, giggling and chatting a mile a minute.

He’s taken time to show every bath toy he owns, giggling and laughing as he fills each flute with a different amount of water, and demonstrates how the sound slightly changes based on the amount of water inside.

They are different, alright, but they are all shrill and unpleasant.

She should be in agony over it, but he’s too damn cute. And he’s so excited everytime he blows into the flutes she can’t help but get excited too.

“Does Henry have bath toys?” Roland asks, while coloring in a tile with the bath crayons.

“Oh he used to have a lot. He had lots of boats, and bath crayons, and he even had an octopus he used to swim with,” Regina smiles, nostalgia flooding her thoughts. “But lately he’s been taking showers.”

Roland wrinkles his nose. “Showers are _boring._ ”

“They are,” Regina agrees, “baths are much more fun.”

“My daddy takes showers,” Roland tells her, as if this were information she wouldn’t have known.

“Does he?” She asks, pretending to be surprised.

“Yes, and he sings in there,” Roland giggles. “He likes to sing.”

“Really?” Regina asks, thinking of the natural rhythm he has as a dancer, she supposed she’s not surprised. “Maybe I should ask him to sing for me, one day,” she winks at him.

“Yeah! My daddy would sing for you. He only sings for people he really likes, and Uncle John told me he likes you.”

“John said that, did he?”

“Mhm, and then I said I like you too! And then daddy told us to be quiet.”

Regina snorts. She shouldn’t be priming the kid for information on his father, but well,she can’t help herself. “When did this happen?”

“Yesterday,” Roland sounds bored, clearly unaware he’s actually trading secrets. “Regina do you like my drawing?” She looks at it and tries not to laugh. “Now who is that under the tree?”

“That’s me, and daddy and Aunt Mulan,” he explains. “And _that,”_ he points at the giant figure near them, “is our pet dinosaur.”

“What is the dinosaur’s name?” Regina asks curiously.

“Rocky. But it’s a girl dinosaur, sometimes Rocky can be a girl’s name,” Roland pronounces with pride, as if he’s very knowledgeable on the subject of gender neutral names.

“Is Rocky a nice dinosaur?” Regina asks, “or will she bite?”

Roland shakes his head. “No, she won’t bite.” And then he starts explaining dinosaurs to Regina. In detail.

And god, she is fully, head over heels in love with Roland Locksley, with every last thing about this child, and it was a terrible idea to get so close. She’s not even sure how it’s happened, but it has, and it scares her. Roland Locksley, with his deep dimpled smile and family portrait that includes imaginary, prehistoric pets is no longer just the adorable kid right out of a cereal commercial, he’s now someone she cares for, someone she likes completely independent of his charming, good-looking father. And in another life, that might be absolutely wonderful, but well, under the circumstances, it’s a warm feeling laced with pain, because she has another person she loves that she will one day have to leave behind forever.

 

.::.

 

She lets him stay in the bath until he’s pruny and yawning, figures it’s his birthday, he’s earned it. And she gets a towel out and dries him, and asks if he has a favorite pair of pajamas.

He does.

Dinosaurs. Predictably.

He picks out a book and then settles in the covers, and Regina sees the toy monkey she won for him at the street festival is laying on top of his bed, next to a worn down toy puppy dog she assumes has been a favorite for years. It makes her happier than she realized, seeing him snuggle into her gift.

“Can you call daddy up here now to read me my story?” Roland asks, already yawning.

She smiles and kisses his nose before she can think of it, and tells him that she will send him right up.

 

.::.

 

Robin changes his clothes first, goes into the laundry room and gets out of the swim trunks he’d been in all day, trades them for a pair of comfortable jeans and a tee shirt he thinks fits him quite well.

Then he goes back down the stairs and cleans up, repeating to himself he should not check on Regina and Roland. Regina made it clear that she wanted time with Roland, that she could handle it, and there’s certainly no sound of distress coming from the bathroom, after all. Plus, he wants to make it clear that he trusts her. He knows there’s a part of her that has a slight bit of self loathing, and she’s made little comments that lead him to believe she doesn’t quite believe he is comfortable leaving her alone with Roland, given everything he knows about her.

So he nervously picks up paper cups and plates, throws trash away and wraps up uneaten food, putting it back in the fridge.

Until he hears her padding downstairs.

“Is everyone gone?” Regina asks just above a whisper.

Robin nods.

“Sorry,” she winces, “he was having so much fun, I didn’t want to force him out of the tub. Not on his birthday.”

“It’s quite alright. This is how long I’d figure a bath would take. Actually, it can take longer.” He concedes, his hands bury themselves into his pockets as he shrugs sheepishly. “Sorry about that, I—”

“Henry was the exact same.” She is truly shining now, her eyes dazzling, the way they do when she is happy. He loves her like this, finds himself falling a little bit more in love with her at every moment. “And I actually miss bath time now, and I know that sounds ridiculous, but trust me, when Roland doesn’t want them anymore, you’ll see what I mean.”

“It doesn’t sound ridiculous,” Robin admits. “As obnoxiously time consuming as it may be, whenever I am on a business trip I miss that time with him. He’s very imaginative in the tub.”

“Mhm,” Regina agrees. He pauses for a second to just drink her in, wishing he had the right to walk over and press a kiss to those lips, stroke his thumb across the apple of her cheeks, drink in her beautiful smile from a breath’s distance away.

The air feels charged, and she feels it too, he thinks, because she’s suddenly turning from his gaze.

“Go on, it’s time to tuck in your son.”

There’s something wrong with him, because he’s never heard an invitation to read a story sound so… well, sexy. And he better put those thoughts out of his mind, because they are reading to his _son._

He starts up the stairs, then notices Regina is not following him. “Coming?” he asks.

“I thought I’d give you guys some space,” she explains “It is his birthday, after all. You should spend storytime with him alone.”

“But what if I don’t want to?” Robin asks. “And I’m fairly certain he won’t be happy if I go up there without you. He will at least want to say goodnight. Come on, unless you’ve had enough of a sleepy five year old for the day?”

She arches an eyebrow and shakes her head as if he had just said the most absurd thing in the world.

“Never.”

 

.::.

 

Roland is already half asleep under the sheets, in his dinosaur pajamas, arms strangling his toy monkey and puppy.

“I want Regina to be Max and Daddy to be the Wild things,” he requests in a sleep-soaked voice. Robin chuckles, and nods. He sits on the edge of the bed, one hand around his son, and Regina scooting the rocking chair right to the edge of the bed, so they can share the book.

Regina starts, reading about Max and his wolf suit causing mischief of one kind and another.

Robin jumps in to do the voice of the mother, a stern voice that is not overly shrill, not feminine, but somehow sounds motherly all the same.

Regina plays Max, throws her whole heart into it, making Roland laugh as she acts out each word.

She and Robin trade reading the narrative, and somehow it goes smoothly. It feels as if they’ve been doing this, splitting bedtime stories, forever. Though it’s meaningless, the fact this goes so well. Their kids just happen to have the same favorite bedtime book.

Robin plays a very good Wild Thing, with a loud, low booming voice, deadly and dark, he hears his teeth and draws his fingers when reading their description.

It’s a nice book, and it’s been awhile since Regina has read it. There’s that price of nostalgia that stirs within her, rising until the sensation entirely washes over her and she’s back with a five year old Henry, reading about wild things and pretending not to fear the new direction her life had taken, trying to pretend the isolation and danger wasn’t overwhelming.

When Robin reads the part where Max is lonely and wants to be where someone loves him “best of all” it pulls at her heard in a way it never has before. And then there’s the next line, where the wild things cry _“Oh please don’t go—we’ll eat you up—we love you so!”_ and her heart aches.

Roland is very nearly asleep by the time Max eats his still-hot supper, and Regina feels lulled into tranquility herself. Robin kisses Roland’s, wishing him a goodnight. And Regina does the same, as if on autopilot, the haze of sleepy bedroom stories taking over..

“You have to kiss Dobby and Max,” Roland insists, pushing the stuffed animals towards her.

She kisses them sweetly, wishing them a good night.

“Does your daddy need to kiss them?” she asks, but Roland shakes his head. “They only wanted a kiss from you.”

She shoots a Robin a knowing look, biting her lip to keep herself from laughing at how cute this son of his is, but the expression on his face takes her breath away. He looks so touched, his eyes are all big and wet and she’s a bit too emotional to hold his gaze for more than a split second.

Robin walks out of the room and motions for her to follow, shutting the light off as she gets the door.

“I’m fairly certain I owe you a drink,” he murmurs as they go down the stairs, “after I had you handle bedtime.”

As nice as it sounds, with as tired as she is now, if she has a drink there’s a good chance she will end up passed out on his couch. Regina shakes her head and offers him a sympathetic smile.

“You don’t owe me anything, it was my pleasure. And I’m driving. I told you, I can’t risk driving if I’ve had anything to drink, the police don’t like me.”

Robin bites his lip and nods as if it’s nothing. “Ah, sorry, momentary lapse in memory. How about a piece of birthday cake and a cup of tea, then?”

She likes that about him. He never tells her she’s being ridiculous to worry about one measly glass of wine, he accepts it for what it is and never makes her feel like less. 

So she should probably be going.

Or maybe she should have some sugar. Just to to give her a little shot of pep for the drive home.

“I already had a piece of cake, but…” she scrunches her nose. “It was delicious and I really want another.”

He nods. “Good. Because I hate to eat cake alone. Festive foods deserve company.”

She laughs and sits down on the couch, and gives Henry a quick call while Robin makes tea. Henry is fine, sounds almost annoyed at her call for interrupting his fun, and that’s a good sign, at least.

Robin puts her cake and tea on the coffee table and sits next to her.

“Can you stay a little while?” he asks, somewhat uncertain.

It’s not even nine o’clock yet, but she’s exhausted already. She’s been out in the sun for the majority of the day, and her emotions have been pulling her back and forth like a rag doll, leaving her dizzy and tired. But she looks at him and realizes he’s hanging on her response a bit too heavily, and this may be more than a polite request. She cocks her head a bit, but before she can ask, he is explaining.

“I could use the company. These events are great but afterwards when everything winds down…”

“It feels a little empty in here.” Regina finishes, stroking his back with a warm passing of her hand. “I get it. Do you want to talk about it?”

Robin grunts rolling his eyes at himself. “God, no. We’ve talked enough about all of that. I’d honestly love nothing more than to do anything but talk about it. At this point I’m boring myself. Mulan and John would always insist on babysitting me for every holiday, every major life event, and I thought that was just ridiculous, you know? Told them I really handled everything on my own. So now they believe me, finally, it seems, and I’m pissed at myself for finally realizing that I needed them distracting me after all.”

Regina’s fingers are still stroking his back, but now she lets them wander, spidering up his neck and scratching at his scalp, his short hair. This is too…. familiar. Too flirty, on the edge of being quite dangerous. She should stop. But he hums a bit, presses his head back into her palm. And she can’t help but smile at that. She knows he is a sucker for a well-placed touch.

“Regina.” His voice is a sigh, nearly a moan, and she bites her lip to keep from smiling. Heat licks up her spine, a tingle of anticipation for things she cannot have rising within her.

“Yes?” she asks innocently, her hand still wandering through his hair.

He lets out a little groan that almost sounds like a cat purring, closing his eyes as she scratches back down his neck to his back, giving him two affectionate taps before her hand falls away.

“Would you like to watch something on television? Something Henry isn’t interested in watching with you, maybe?”

And honestly, the thought of watching television with another adult does sound nice.

“You know…” she smiles, “some sort of raunchy, stupid comedy would be great. Something where I don’t have to think.”

He flips through a few titles on his TV before landing on _Fast Times at Ridgemont High_ , raising his eyebrows to her in question.

“Perfect,” she says, indulging in a huge forkful of Roland’s cake, moaning at the taste of chocolate and icing. Her mouth is half full, so she has to cover it with her hand when she declares, “this is, by far, the best child’s birthday cake I’ve ever had.”

“Goldie’s Bakery,” he says with a smile.

“I swear if I keep seeing you I’m going to gain 20 pounds,” she jokes. “Street food at the festival, that picnic and all that junk food there, then there was that ice cream sundae—“

“Now, it was _your_ idea to go to Treasure Island,” he reminds her playfully.

“And _your_ idea for me to get that sundae,” she argues, “which, lets be clear, I don’t regret, I’m just saying, if we start seeing much more of each other my waistline will suffer.”

He looks at her and squints, as if analyzing her, and then shakes his head. “I would be willing to bet an awful lot of money that you’d look gorgeous no matter what you eat.”

She snorts. “I really don’t think that’s true. But I’m still eating the rest of this cake.”

“Good,” Robin says with a laugh. “You deserve a little treat every now and then.”

Attention shifts to the television for just a moment, but then they trade memories of the first time they saw this movie, and somehow the conversation shifts to their teenage years. She starts to feel sleep pulling at her, keeps fighting a yawn. She should _really_ get going. But she’s so comfortable and warm right here…

She keeps closing her eyes. Blinking, really, except each time she blinks her eyes seem to shut for longer. She shifts on the couch to find a more comfortable spot. Robin’s hands find her back, rubbing it in these delightfully gentle strokes that relax every muscle. They continue to talk, but the pauses grow longer, and her eyes are now more often closed than open, the steady hum of the television underneath his soothing voice sounding more like white noise.

The next thing she knows, the movie is off, some late night television show is on in its place, the clapping of the audience cutting through her dreams. She can't remember how or when she nodded off, but it appears she slept right against him, her neck at the oddest angle against his shoulder, body curled up against his side, an arm looped around his torso as if she were holding onto him for dear life.

She's embarrassed by the position she's in, and that's why she darts up and out of it so sharply and quickly and — _God,_ her neck hurts. She lets out a little yelp — cannot completely stifle the sound of pain as she wants to, and her hand immediately flies to the crook of her neck, desperately trying to rub out whatever pulled muscle has caused her distress.

“Come here,” he says, motioning towards his body. “Let me rub that kink out for you. I should have known that position would twinge your neck, but I didn't want to wake you.” His voice is so warm and smooth and calm, she could listen to that accent all day. He should just come over with a novel and read it out loud, a bedtime story every night, she'd sleep so soundly.

“How long have I been out?” Regina asks, trying to fight the embarrassment in her voice.

“Less than an hour. Maybe closer to a half hour. I turned off the movie, figured we could finish it later.”

“Sorry,” she sighs, still rubbing at her neck, “it’s not even late, I can’t believe I fell asleep.”

“Nonsense, you were exhausted. I’m glad you got some sleep. Now I mean it, turn around, let me rub that kink out, it’s the least I can do, after letting you sleep in that position and all.”

She turns away from him and lets him take the lead, feels warmth radiating against her as he moves right behind her. He’s good with his hands, she knows this, and god, the way he touches her, massages stiff muscles, and wills them to relax. She cannot help the whimpers and moans that fall when the gentle pressure loosens the constricted muscles and turns them to jelly. She feels a tingly wave go up her body, his touch _does_ _things_ to her, it has since the moment they first met.

And then she feels his hand slide lower, to at the hem of her blouse. It stays there as she feels his warm breath on her ear, “Is it okay if I go under your shirt?” he asks, and yes, yes, it's more than okay.

Except rubbing underneath her blouse will stretch it out, and it’s so high and tight around her neck it’s constricting.

She should be more modest but dammit, he's seen it all before and at this point she just wants a proper back rub, his skin on her skin. She’ll keep her bra on, but….

“Hold on,” she says, she’s and she fiddles with he back button, grabs at the side zipper and pulls the top off with a sigh. Her back is to him, all he can really see is a bare back and neck, but her cheeks still flush red when his hands skim over her shoulders and thread through her hair. It's as if she can _feel_ him appreciating her, feel him gawking at her, feel more than that, the way he cares, respects... it's so unexpected, all of this so unexpected but so very wanted.

She wants him. All of him.

She can’t have him, but maybe she can _at least_ indulge in a fantasy where she spins in his arms, straddles his lap, and kisses the life out of him.

Or maybe later she’ll just do it.

What’s the worst that could happen?

She’s already kissed him before and the world didn’t end, right?

She’s going to kiss him, right after he stops massaging her like this, using those fingers and hands to light her nerves on fire and turn every aching muscle into putty. She’ll just kiss him, for a little while, if he wants, they can just get it out of their systems...

He urges her backwards, tipping her head up to knead a bit more, thumbs digging deep into the knots in her back, palms wrapped around her shoulder, fingers by her clavicle. Her eyes are shut, and she’s doing her damndest to bite back a moan. Just feeling the movement, and the way his fingers dance over the skin by her chest, and the way they skirt over _that spot_ , that spot that feels a bit tender, and he's soothing the skin that feels a bit inflamed, it feels good, the way he’s touching, but why is her skin _raw_ there?

Oh, right. _Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck._

How could she forget about the bruises? Those few little reminders of what she is. Reminders to _Robin_ of what she is. And more than that, they remind them both that she has been with another man recently, that she sleeps with men that aren't him, that she can never be with Robin.

She pulls away from him, hissing when she jerks her neck and head forward, and reaches to grab her blouse.

“This is a bad idea.”

She’s not looking at him, but she hears the urgency in his voice. “Regina—”

She cuts him off before he has a chance to say anything, still refusing to meet his eyes. “If you thought you had fixed me, and that I had stopped, you are an idiot.”

“I know, and—”

“There are reasons I do this, and one of them isn't _I just haven't met the right guy to show me I’m worth more than that._ Alright? I _have_ to do this and I'm not going to stop until— well not for a long time.”

“I _know!_ That's not what this is—-”

“Oh, don't give me that,” she snarls, thinking of his hand tracing that bite on her collarbone, making it all too clear he wanted an explanation, “you know _exactly_ what you were doing.”

“No, Regina you misunderstand,” he soothes. His eyes look so full of remorse, no, not remorse, something she can't place. He swallows heavily, and his hands thread through her hair, lifting up enough to touch at the sensitive skin underneath. The skin Mal told her was purple, shit, that can’t look good. “Someone hurt you.”

The concern is pouring out of every last syllable, and that look she couldn't identify is _fear_ , he's _scared_ for her, and she's so touched she can't say anything. She just stares back at him with tears in her eyes, mouth too dry to even attempt a word.

“I’m making no judgment on what you do. I'm not upset because you’ve... _been with someone_. Just... when I think about how _dangerous_ this is…”

Oh.

“It’s not that dangerous,” she assures. “Not... usually.”

“But these,” he reaches for her, delicate fingers skate across her tender skin. She lets him, even tilts her head back as he touches the bruises between her neck and shoulder. “They look painful.”

She puts that issue aside and focuses on Robin’s question — the one he is afraid to voice, but has asked just the same. “It’s not as bad as you think. You know I’m careful. I screen very well. And I, I try not to take in too many new clients.” She swallows heavily. God, this is awkward to talk about. “I tend to deal in regulars only. It’s easier. Safer. I only really open myself to new people when an old regular drops out. And I need to have a certain amount of clients because... there’s a timeline in place. And I need to have….” She frowns, not really ready to go into what she _needs_ out of this.

“You don’t need to tell me why you do this,” Robin says, alleviating her fears. She looks at him, incredulous, because he looks _honest_ and truly just concerned.

“Right. My point is, you were my first new client in over six months. And this guy…” she points to her bruise, “was my first new client since you. And I won’t see him again. I’ll just find a new regular.”

He still looks concerned. “Why couldn’t I be your new regular?”

She tilts her head raises an eyebrow. “That was the idea….” she draws. “I selected you with that in mind — that you could be a regular. But then _someone_ had to have a conscience and swear off the whole business,” she smiles at him, tries to make it light, but that rotten look on his face isn’t lifting, and this is awful.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” he explains slowly. “I mean why _can’t_ I be your new regular, now?”

Her blood turns to ice water for a second. Cold sweat draws from places she never imagined _could_ sweat.

Not him. _Never_ him.

Dear god, just let her have this one good thing in her life. One man who sees her differently. A guy who doesn’t just see her as…

“You... want to pay me for sex? After everything—” she asks, her throat dry, voice shaky, despite her attempt to control it.

But his eyes go wide, and he’s rushing to assure her, “No, no, not for sex. Just... for your time.”

So it’s charity.

She spent all day with him, hell, she was about to stick her tongue down his throat a second ago.

He's asking to buy something that's already been given to him.

Part of her really wants to take him up on the offer. But she’d rather keep Robin the way he is to her now. She wants him to see her as more than a damsel in distress, wants to appreciate him as more than just a client. She likes him too much, likes their friendship too much, to have it fall back into a work related arrangement.

“You don’t have to pay me for my time.” She motions to his house, but specifically to the porch, where he held her in his arms, where they just had a very intimate conversation. “I just spent the day with you. I... I like spending time with you, you don’t…”

“You’re busy,” he argues, and then adds, “I don’t get to see you as much as I like.”

“I’m not a charity case,” she argues, stiffening when she looks at him. She really needs to go, before those tears stinging at the back of her eyes threaten to break loose.

Robin sighs and shakes his head, his lip jutting out as if he’s offended at the very thought.

“This isn’t charity. I want to see you more. And I’d gladly pay to spend more time with you.”

“You’d pay to spend time with me and _not_ have sex?” She asks, incredulous.

To her surprise he doesn’t try to qualify it, doesn’t try to explain why he would pay her. He just nods his head.

“Absolutely.”

She rolls her eyes and grabs at her top again and huffs out a sarcastic, “And that’s all you want, nothing else.”

His chuckle is unexpected but telling, and she raises an eyebrow pointedly in response. And then his face goes solemn.

“Of course I want more with you. You know how attracted I am to you. And you know I loved being with you, that one night. But I don't want it like _that_. Not again. Not because I’m paying you. I’d only want it if _you_ wanted it. If you did it because you were being paid it wouldn’t be… I wouldn’t enjoy it. I promise. So no, in a way, I don’t want more. I don’t want anything you don’t want to give me yourself.”

She gives them a moment, just stares at him and takes in the unspoken implication of what he’s saying.

“What would you even get out of this?”

He shrugs, and he looks a bit raw, a bit sheepish, before he lowers his gaze to his lap. “You know I'm a mess. The rest of the world does not, but you know. You know I've been half checked out as I go through life since Marian, and it's not fair to Roland, is it? I can't be the guy so desperate for attention yet so averse to moving on that he engages strangers for... intimacy. Trust me, I need help.”

“So see a psychologist,” she muses, because she doesn't have a degree and is ill equipped to deal with that.

“Oh I've tried… I couldn't ever bring myself to really tell them what goes on with me. I'm... not usually a talker. I don't feel comfortable opening up to people. But you, I can talk to you. And when I'm around you…” he takes a breath in and reaches out to stroke her cheek. It's incredibly intimate. It's not appropriate and she should pull away. But she leans into the touch instead. “I feel alive again.”

“I don't think I can give you want you want,” she whispers. “I can give you a fantasy date full of sexual tension that ends in a wonderful orgasm. That’s pretty much it.”

“You know that’s not true.” He’s staring at her, directly into her eyes, and she tries to meet his gaze, but cowards out and shrinks away. “That’s not what you’re paid for.”

“What am I paid for, then?” she asks, staring back at him, “Because I must be getting naked a lot for free if —”

“Are you telling me the only part of your job, when you are on the clock, is sex? Because that's a part of it, but we know it's a smaller part than any of your clients ever admit, isn't it?”

He sees her.

She's realizing now for the first time perhaps that he sees her, what she does, as more than the awful morally corrupt thing that it is. He sees good in it. She does too, sometimes, when she lets herself feel anything but disgust for who she is and what she does. Some days she clings to the feeling that she does help people with more than just scratching an itch. It helps her get by.

She never really let herself believe anyone as good and pure as Robin would see her like this.

He continues.

“You said you build your entire business on regulars. A group of men who like to hire strangers for sex keep coming back to _you._ You make them feel comfortable. You listen to them. You make them feel wanted, and appreciated. Maybe even loved. They wouldn’t come back if it was just about the sex. And you know that.”

“And how would you know?” She’s defiant, and angry, because he’s _right_ , he’s going to win this argument, and that makes him a good man who understands her. And that’s just torture. There’s an uncomfortable seed of hope, of _yearning_ planted in her, and it has no right to be there.

She chose her path, and her path has consequences.

She doesn’t get to be loved, or cherished, or appreciated. She doesn’t get to have people know her _whole_ self, ever. And if they did, they certainly wouldn’t love her.

“Because I hired you. I saw you work, I know how it felt. It was one of the greatest nights I had since Marian died, and still would have been without the sex. And admitting that, given that it was all pretend, should embarrass the hell out of me, but you know what? I'm _not_ embarrassed, because it's _you,_ and that's how good you are at this. You make me feel comfortable. Few people do that.”

She frowns, contemplating his words. She's not ready to appreciate the significance they have, not fully, but his eyes are wet and his voice cracks ever so slightly, and she knows what he’s said did not come easily.

Because he likes her. Quite a bit. And he thinks that evening was pretend but it wasn't. But if he knew otherwise, what would it change? She'd still be leaving him.

She sucks in a deep breath. “Robin, a new client will typically spend upwards of $1,500 a month.”

He shrugs. “I was thinking it would be more than that. I live relatively modestly, Regina, but I have a fair amount of money. I'd spend more in good therapy anyway.”

She shakes her head, willing the tears pushing at her eyes to stand down.

She fails and her eyes feel wet and itchy, tears cutting into the brim of her eyelids.

“I don't want to lose you as a friend,” she admits, “if this changes that…”

“Hey, hey, hey.” He cups her chin, drawing her upwards. “It won't. I’d never risk that, okay? It means a lot to me, too. And we can set some rules just to make sure of that.”

Her face scrunches up in confusion. “Rules?”

“Things that will make this less... awkward. Keep our business separate from our friendship.”

She should be shooting all of this down —it’s a terrible idea, and horrendously selfish of her to take him up on it, considering she will be taking his money to _leave him_ and this city forever. But she finds herself motioning for him to continue, to explain this idea of his any way. “Like?”

“Well...” he scratches his head, his line of sight tips down towards his lap, and he frowns for a second before looking back up at her with renewed resolve. “We establish which dates are part of the arrangement. So you and I both know when you are ‘off’ the clock.”

That would help. Just a few nights a month, it would work.

“I like that,” she admits.

Her words encourage him, it seems, because he’s jumping to his next request with a little smile on his face. “And every client has their own wishes right? I want you to speak your mind. I don't want you to change because that's what you think I'm paying you for.”

She frowns. _That_ she does not like, it sounds too much like giving her money for nothing. She’s going to _enjoy_ this too much. She’s not going to let him pay her to wine and dine her, that’s absurd. “If you want to have sex, I'm going to give it to you, if you are paying me I'm not denying you.”

“I won't ask that of you,” he assures. “So we don’t have to worry about that scenario. But if you want to tell me I'm being an ass, tell me. If I'm whiny, tell me. If I make you uncomfortable, tell me. I'm paying you to be honest.”

She nods slightly, stunned into silence.

“And I'll give you payment for the month up front, at a lunch or a dinner or hell, I just stop by the office with it, I don't care. But no money exchanges when you are on the clock, it’ll remind me of the first time together, and then I’ll feel like shit, and I think it’s a mood killer for the whole evening.”

“But…” She whispers. “Cash. I need the money in…”

Robin holds up his hand to stop her from trying to explain. “Cash, of course. Now, how many dates do your regulars go on a month?”

She feels her cheeks redden in shame. Telling him this doesn’t exactly give away how active she is, but it _does_ give him enough to work on.

“It depends... sometimes a client will make appointments three times in two weeks, and then I won’t see them for over a month. It’s not like clockwork. Some clients only like overnights. Some like the two hour sessions…” her mouth goes dry thinking of the gritty details that she’d rather Robin not hear of. She moves her hands up and down her thighs nervously, and then turns back to that shirt. God, she’s been having this entire conversation in a nude colored bra that is way more see-through then she remembers. She turns, suddenly self conscious at how naked she is.

“Just forget it; this isn’t going to work.”

He seems entirely unbothered, reaching for her hand, looping his index and thumb around her wrist, pulling it towards him, eyes burrowing into hers. “I think it will. Let’s do... one four-hour session and one two-hour session a month. Is that okay?”

“You want a four-hour session?” She asks incredulously. That’s not _dinner,_ that’s dinner and _dessert._ “If you say you don’t want sex, what would we even _do?”_

Robin’s eyes light up, and he strokes the hand he’s now holding, fingertrips tracing the lines of her palm in some random, soothing pattern. “We could take our sons out to a movie and dinner. Go to the park. Dinner and a movie, binge on a Netflix series. I wouldn't worry about that. I have endless ideas for what we will do.”

And all of those things sound so nice — they are things she’d do without paying for them, after all. And that’s the problem of it all. If she’s having fun, getting a lot of out of this - perhaps more than _he_ will get, it hardly seems fair. She pushes down the voice in her head that says that the fact she’s this worried about fairness and wasting his money means she cares for him far too much.

Regina sighs, cocks her head and raises an eyebrow. “You want to pay me to watch _Netflix_ with you?”

Robin laughs, reaches for his glass of water, and nods. “Oh, most definitely. I miss that aspect of a relationship, and you know, maybe I will want it again one day but for now... I quite enjoy spending time watching TV with you next to me.”

But that's... well it's about $2,500 a month, according to her rates. He’s asking her to eat meals with him and watch Netflix and _pay_ her $2,500 for the privilege.

“You’d be paying me—”

“$2,500 a month,” he says, smiling, “what I planned to pay when I offered this arrangement.”

“$2,000,” she amends before thinking enough to turn him down completely because god, she wants this. “It’s a discount for regulars.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but she’s not backing down on this, and he must see it in her face, because he shuts it, locks eyes with her, and sighs. “As long as I'm not eating up time you could be spending earning more, we can agree to that.” He rubs a hand through his hair. “Please, I’m asking you to just give me this time. There’s something about you — you can settle my nerves, put me at ease, make me laugh, you make me feel that it’s alright to move on, or to mourn, or to… anything. I haven’t felt at peace with any of those things before you. I want more of that feeling. So trust me, this isn’t me trying to save _you_. Quite the opposite.”

Maybe this isn't healthy for him. He should go on real dates with real women who deserve him. Build a real relationship. She can't give him that, can never give him that, and he may be holding out hope for that, so maybe she should just…

But when she looks into his eyes all she sees is that perfect, beautiful man begging her to let him spend time with her, and she won't deny him this.

“You’re crazy.” A smile as big as a rainbow takes over her face. She hears her mother voicing her concerns, calling her what she is. Foolish. Reckless. Damned. Rotten.

And maybe she's all those things, but in this moment she is also _Happy._ _Grateful_. _Appreciated_.

He hugs her tight then, and murmurs into her ear, “I'm taking that as a yes.”

She isn't ready for words yet, so she just leans back and hums affirmatively into his neck. When she breaks from the hug she's rubbing her sore neck and smiling at him, still at a loss for words.

“We’ll plan over email or text. And either one of us are allowed to stop any time, and no hard feelings if we do, okay?”

“Absolutely,” Robin says, crossing his heart for impact.

She still feels uneasy, like he will regret this. Especially when he finds out what she plans to do with the money. She bites her lip and sighs. “Are you sure you don’t mind not knowing what I’m going to do with your money? I mean, you aren’t like the others, you know—”

“I don’t, though. I don’t know why you need the money. I know it’s not to feed an addiction, or anything that will cause harm to you or Henry. You are too smart for that. I assume it’s probably best if I don’t know the details. And I trust your judgment enough to think it’s necessary.”

“You’re not at all… curious?” she asks, raising an eyebrow, and Robin laughs, looking like his hand is stuck in the cookie jar.

“I’m incredibly curious,” he admits. “But I don’t want to push you to tell me something you aren’t comfortable sharing. And maybe one day that will change, but until it does, I won’t ask that of you.”

She frowns, contemplating his words. Her hands idly rub at her back, not sure what her next move will be.

Luckily, Robin has a solution. His voice is strong, but gentle, as he implores, “Come here, you, and let me finish that back rub.”

She laughs, and fiddles with the strap of the bra that’s been digging into her shoulder. And you know what?

She turns so her back faces him, then reaches to the back clasp of her bra and undoes it, letting the offending garment slide off her body. She revels when his breath hitches, feels the way he appreciates her in his touch. He’s riled up, it seems, but determined to be a gentleman.

“I can’t believe I forgot about the marks,” she chuckles. He digs knuckles into tense back muscles. It’s actually rather nice, this impromptu massage. She misses being touched like this, by someone who doesn’t expect her to reciprocate tenfold, just being rubbed down to make _her_ feel good. “I was so worried about someone seeing them this morning, it was always on my mind. But then I guess, you make me so comfortable… I just forgot.”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Robin says, his voice all throaty and deep. “If you think they look like lovemarks, you’re wrong. They look like they hurt.”

“I wouldn’t want someone asking me about the nasty bruises either,” Regina sighs, concentrating on how his hands feel, the steady kneading at the knot at the base of her neck. “And of course it had to be a _pool_ party, of all things—”

“Is that why you didn’t get in the pool?” Robin asks, “I was wondering about that, you—”

“I probably wouldn’t have gone swimming anyway for some different reason,” she sighs as his hands rub at her shoulders. “I mean, I love the water, I always have. But I haven’t gone swimming all summer, probably won’t get a swim in before labor day. Something always seems to come up. I’m afraid I’m not exactly fun.”

She hears Robin scoff behind her, and she almost turns to face him, to ask what he finds so incredulous, but her neck is twinges, so she grunt and mutters, “What?”

“You’re plenty fun.” Robin explains. “I’ve heard from Henry all about the games you play with him and his friends. And I’ve seen you go down a huge inflatable slide, participate in a pitch contest at a street festival, sign up for dance lessons last minute… you’re a lot of fun.”

She supposes that is true, things have been so different since she met him. Not that she’s complaining. But still… he should know this person he thinks is her just isn’t.

“I’m not,” she grimaces. “Not like them. It seems like I’ve always got something going on, pulling my attention away from the moment. And I don’t have long leisurely weekends to soak up sun and take Henry on beach trips or amusement parks, like _Cindy_ or _Rachel._ I’m not carefree the way they are _,_ I watched them giggling and sipping cocktails in the pool, all tanned and beautiful. I can’t even risk having a drink. I’ll never be the bubbly woman in the bright bikini throwing back a pink cocktail, talking about what tropical vacation they are planning next.”

Robin laughs. “No. You are a bit more complicated than that. I’m glad for it.”

“I’m not glad for it,” she mutters. “Sometimes I just want to be as impulsive and carefree as I was for those few years before Henry. When Daniel and I… I was different then. And sometimes I just wish I could have that, but I can’t even dip into the pool at a party. I’m the uptight bundle of nerves and problems, I just…” She frowns, and finally gives voice to the thing that has been weighing on her chest. “I can tell some of those women wanted you, and they weren’t all awful, as much as Ruby complained. You deserve carefree, easy fun. And I don’t know why—”

“I don’t want any of those women,” Robin says behind her, in a tone that sounds almost ridiculous. His hands keep rubbing at her back, slow, steady. There. “I can’t force myself to feel things I don’t. And let me make things clear; I’ve only felt anything with you. And it’s not because I was paying you, alone. I tried that twice before, and—”

Regina smiles to herself, cuts him off from having to admit the embarrassing details. “One of them contacted me after our meeting and asked if you had actually gone through with our date. She told me what happened with her. And apparently the woman before her had shared, too. I know the details. I guess you had trouble, um, going through with it, before.”

She hears a little whimper, something muttered she can’t quite catch, before he speaks in a clearer voice. “Yeah… I’m forever grateful that those details were not shared until, um, _after_ our date. You probably would have known I was a lost cause and tried to get rid of me.”

“No, I like a challenge,” Regina assures coyly, closing her eyes as he rubs at her back. “I might have taken things a bit slower had I known.”

“Then I’m glad you didn’t,” he says and she can’t help it anymore, she turns, damn her twinged neck and all, turns to see him. His cheeks are streaked with crimson, he looks adorable. “I mean, it was pretty perfect as it was.”

She laughs, and now his ears and neck are red as a well, eyes darting away from hers, adding, “I mean, I shouldn’t have, I probably, if I could take it back…”

“You regret it?” She asks, a wave of anxiety building inside her as her neck spins back around, her eyes now focused on the wall in front of her instead of the man behind her.

“It made you uncomfortable, when we met in your office. And I can’t help but think had we not had that history, maybe things with us would have been easier, you could have trusted—”

She shakes her head, then arches her neck into his palms. He get the point, rubs the tender spot a little more firmly. “I would have assumed you would have been disgusted at the real me, and we never would have been anything more than work associates.” She says plainly.

“But maybe if I had left before um, things got physical—”

“I would have thought you looked down on me, that you had something on me you could use against me, and probably would have kept you at a distance.” And it’s true, really. Had he walked out on her that night she would have been the one accepting sex for money, and he would have been the one with clean hands walking away from her. At least now, they are both guilty. “I admit it made things awkward at first, and I wished I hadn’t answered your email, but um, that was before I got to know you better, and that never would have happened if you hadn’t.”

She breaks out of the massage then, one of her hands demurely covering her breasts, just to look at him. So he can see how serious she is, how much she means it.

“Oh.” He says, a smile cracking over his face like the sun rising over the horizon. He has these smiles that light up a room, but he doesn’t use them often, so it makes it all the more special when he gives one to her. “Do _you_ still wish you hadn’t have answered that email?” he asks.

 _No._ She thinks, but also _yes_. She’s glad she answered it, for so many reasons. She has a friend now, a good looking friend who flirts with her and makes her feel appreciated. She has someone to confide in, to help when she feels weak. But he has also made her life more difficult. He’s made her exit strategy harder now, because she’s attached to him. And she doesn’t want to leave.

“I like knowing you this way, but, I… it’s… It’s complicated.” She measures, not wanting to lie. But she can’t help but smile.

“Mhm,” Robin nods, still smiling at her. He reaches for a lock of hair and tucks it behind her ear, and her cheeks heat. “It definitely is.”

They look at each other in silence, and Regina tries to work out what he’s thinking. And then he slaps his palms on his knees and says, “Come on. I have an idea.”

“What?” She looks at him with dramatically narrowed eyes, as if she is trying hard to show her reluctance here. But she trusts him, she does, and would probably follow him anywhere.

As scary as that is to admit.

“You said that I deserve carefree, easy fun. And you know what? So do you. So we’re going to do something carefree and fun.”

“Is the massage over then?” She draws carefully, raising an eyebrow.

“For now,” Robin says. “But I don’t want this day to be too solemn and us to drone on about regrets and the lack thereof, and how complicated things are. I’d much rather jump in the pool with you.”

She wrinkles her nose and wraps both arms around her chest, it’s discomfort disguised as modesty. “I don’t have my suit.”

“Perfect. Skinny-dipping seems carefree and fun.”

“Not going to happen,” Regina mutters, “but enjoy the pool yourself.”

“You could wear your underwear, I can wear mine.” He exhales slowly, rubbing his hand over his hair. “Look, I can’t give you much to calm your nerves, or make you feel better in many ways, but you said you like to swim, and it kind of kills me that you spent the day worried about a few marks and couldn’t properly enjoy yourself. So I want a do-over. Come swimming with me, enjoy the first swim of the summer with me. Please?”

She’s not a child who needs to play in a pool, for god’s sake. At her age, pools should solely be used for swimming laps or dipping in casually to avoid the heat. She doesn’t need to float and flop around in the moonlight,

“This is really stupid,” she says, reaching for the bra that is still on the floor, turning back around to put it on. “And this bra is nude; it’s going to be see through the second I jump in.”

“Not exactly a selling point for why we shouldn’t do this,” Robin says, sparkle in his eye. “In fact, I now must insist that you take your beautiful body to the pool right now.”

He doesn’t push, though, it’s just a light tease, something that has her laughing and shaking her head.

But she finishes putting her bra on, grimacing. She could have picked a more flattering one for the day. Still, it fits well, and it’s nice enough, plain, but clean, just a bit of lace around the edges to look sexy, but nothing that would have her upset about jumping into a vat of chlorinated water.

“You’re overdressed,” she points out.

He smiles, rushes to take off his shirt (her eyes roam over his body shamelessly, she doesn’t mind at this point, and doubts he does). “Alright then, allow me to lead the way.”

She follows him down the stairs, to the sliding door entrance to the backyard. He grabs a few towels from the wicker basket by the door, then flips a light switch and the pool lights come on, bright blue water shining and dazzling under starlight.

Robin opens the sliding glass door, and turns, looking at her.

He must pick up on something — a hint of hesitation, her sudden shyness. “Second thoughts?” he asks.

“No,” she says, unable to stop biting her lip, brushing hair back, feeling absolutely ridiculous over how nervous she is over a late night dip in the pool. “I mean, I still think it’s silly, and it will probably be cold.”

“It’s 80 degrees outside, and the pool is currently 84 degrees.” Robin smiles. “Next excuse.”

She’s silent, smiles and shrugs. “84 degrees sounds nice.”

“Mhm,” Robin says, fiddling with the waist of his jeans. He raises an eyebrow, til she nods permission, and then he’s dropping-trou.

He’s wearing these grey boxer briefs, a black band that says HANES repeatedly across the waist.

He hovers by the door, waiting for her.

Regina shimmies out of her jeans, wincing at the fact she’s wearing the comfortable, black cotton underwear that is the furthest thing from sexy.

But then she peels off those jeans further, and a bruised, swollen knee comes into view. She winces.

When she glances up at him, it’s very clear he’s noticed. His eyes are focused on it, and as quickly as he tries to look away, he’s been caught.

She’s about to explain, try to excuse the swollen purple marks, but then he speaks first, shaking his head. “Alright then. I grabbed us towels. You coming?”

It’s just nice. Not having to explain. Having him accept her and every broken battered part that makes up her past and present.

She steps out into the warm night air behind him.

He dives headfirst into the deep end of the pool, every muscle highlighted by the reflective, brightened water and the light of the moon.

She watches every indulgent second of him diving in, and coming back to the surface, all wet and toned and gorgeous. And then she dives in herself.

It’s actually thrilling, swimming at night like this, and it’s been awhile since she’s been in a pool without a child beside her - too long, actually. The last time would be for a job. With a client.

God, it’s been years since she’s felt this free.

The water is cool, but not cold, it envelops her as she dives into it. She hears the small ripple of a splash around her - not too big, she is a swimmer, after all, with years of swim team and diving team under her belt, it seems she fell into the proper diving form without much need for a refresher.

The water hits her pointed toes last, and instead of swimming up towards the surface, she swims down for a bit, force of habit.

She loves the tranquil quiet of the deep end of a pool, and it’s somehow nicer at night, when the lights add little auras of warmth around the darkened depths.

She feels at ease here, always has, and now, it seems, is no exception. Despite the fact she’s wearing a bra and some old cotton underwear instead of a proper suit.

She swims to the bottom, out of instinct, then flips and opens her eyes, looking up at the surface from the bottom. She’s oddly aware of Robin up there, treading water, looking down at her, but now she’s just alone, for a second, taking in every relaxing, soothing moment, letting her mind and body go back to a simpler time, when she had time for leisurely, selfish hours to swim and relax in the water.

She stays there until her lungs burn and itch for air, and god, she misses this feeling, loves it, actually, needing to breathe, but holding back seeing how long she can hold out, how many more seconds her body can be deprived of that life saving oxygen.

She draws it out, waits until that tingle of panic creeps through her, and then she darts up quickly to the surface, shooting up like a lightning bolt, tossing her head back when she hits the cool air, taking it in an indulgent, loud gasp.

Her hair is slicked back, curls wrapping around the back of her neck as she struggles to catch her breath, her smile so big her face hurts.

She focuses on Robin, and notices he isn’t wearing the same energetic looks. He looks a bit… timid.

“Thought you were drowning for a second there,” he admits, swimming towards her. “I was actually about to—”

“No, I… I am an excell—excellent swimmer.” She is still catching her breath when she pants out, “I just like being underwater. It’s…” she concentrates on her breathing, willing it to return to normal. She’s out of practice, sure, but she thought she’d recover more quickly than this. “It’s very peaceful down there.”

“Mhm, I bet when you were little you wanted to be a mermaid.”

Regina laughs, and splashes him teasingly. “How did you know?”

“Marian was like you, a fish in the water. Told her first grade teacher that was what she wanted to be when she grew up.” He says it without that trace of pain that always shoots across his face when he mentions Marian to her, and it’s nothing, nothing to draw attention to at all, but it melts her heart into a drippy puddle.

“I’d love to be a mermaid,” she admits. She’s right up against him now, and there’s no sense in keeping distance, so she lets herself touch him, lets her arms playfully loop around his neck.

He sighs, as he looks at at her, head tilting in that way, and everything goes quiet. She can’t even hear the crickets chirping over the sound of her own heart.

But before he can kiss her, she’s using those arms around his neck to push him under, dunking him fast, laughing at the surprised sound he makes.

When he resurfaces, his eyes are narrowed playfully as he tells her, “You are _dead.”_

He swims towards her as she backs away, a little playfully shriek coming out of her mouth that sounds far too young, far too wild, to be her.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she says, her body swimming backwards as she watches him stalk towards her.

“Wouldn’t I?” he asks, and then he swims quickly towards her.

He’s a good swimmer himself, fast, strong, and she tries to dart out of his path, almost does, but he’s able to catch her toe, just her toe, grabbing it with a strong grip underwater and pulling her back towards him.

There’s some playful horseplay; limbs thrashing against one another as they attempt to pin and block, bodies wiggling to separate, pushing to get closer, until Regina’s legs are wrapped around his waist, hands locked in his as she tries to dunk him under the water.

She almost has him, but then he twists and frees his hands from hers and reaches down to her waist, pulling her backwards and down into the water.

She shrieks, and giggles as the water washes over her.

She doesn’t like to lose. Not normally. But this time is an exception.

When she surfaces again, she has to spit out some water that’s found its way inside her mouth, and Robin is laughing, and so is she, and she feels absurdly light, almost dizzy and giddy.

“Rude,” she says lightly, as she swims towards him in the shallow end. Robin shrugs, and pulls her close, like they were before, but without the rough housing.

“Sorry,” he says, and it takes her a second or two to realize he meant to apologize for dunking her.

“You’re forgiven,” she says primly. “This time.”

He doesn’t respond to her teasing tone, he’s too busy looking at her.

“You look beautiful right now.” His voice is deep, husky, and she feels his arms tighten around her.

“I’ll bet,” she grimaces, thinking of what she must look like, makeup running, lingerie soaked.

“Truly,” he assures, running a hand through the soaked strands of her hair. “I don’t think I’ve seen you laugh like this before. It’s very… attractive.”

“I was choking on pool water and snorting,” she reminds, but Robin’s hands just slide up her back, the steady current tickling her spine.

“Beautiful,” he says again, lower this time, his head tilting into hers.

“Do you know,” Regina asks, shifting the conversation to something that makes her less… unnerved, “that I was on swim team for nearly 10 years of my life?”

“I didn’t,” Robin answers, “I’m not surprised, though.”

“Mother didn’t approve,” Regina sighs, “She was so happy when I took up diving. Diving is elegant and graceful. Swimming is all about power and speed. It required muscle, all this weight training. But I loved how strong it made me feel.”

“You still are,” he reminds, “I mean, literally, I very nearly lost that little game we had back there. Your legs are… surprisingly muscular.”

Regina brings one leg up to his side and kicks against underwater, not too hard, but firmly, enough to prove him right. He offers her a choked laugh, eyebrows raising in surprise.

“Not as strong as they once were,” she says coyly. “But good enough, should I need to use them.”

“Feel free to use them against me anytime,” he mutters, breath coming out in hot puffs on her forehead, and she can’t help but hum and tilt towards him..

A playful streak comes across her, and she knows it’s the nostalgia surrounding her, replaying the happier parts of her youth.

“Help me onto your shoulders,” she asks, bending her knees, treading in the water, trying to climb up his body.

He bends down far enough so she can climb up his body and plant her feet on his shoulders, grabbing his hands to steady herself as she stands up. Getting into this position definitely had her crotch situated a bit _too_ close to his face, but in the moment, she finds she doesn’t much care.

The air feels nice on her wet skin, and it gives her goosebumps, the slight warm breeze tickling at her. She is facing behind him now, so she can’t look down to tell if he finds this new game endearing or painful, but something tells her he’s enjoying it all the same.

“When I was younger…” She starts, planting her feet into his shoulder more solidly, “I was quite good at this. The best, in fact.”

She presses her feet into him and springs back as her back arches.

She’s out of practice.

It’s not a perfect dive by any stretch of the imagination, she’s slightly under-rotated, and splashes hard into the water, but fuck, does it ever feel fun.

And that’s the first thing she says to him as she lifts her head above water.

He is looking at her in that charming way she’s grown addicted to, and she fits herself right back against him. Wrapping her legs back around his waist, same as before, and he lifts her up, holding her above him, smiling at her like there’s nothing else in the world.

Her arms wrap around his neck, holding him as close as she can get with still being able to see his face.

And it’s a nice face. He’s smiling at her, a tender, small little thing, his eyes burrowed into hers.

“Your turn,” she whispers to him in a teasing tone. They are a breath apart, and everything is soft and still.

“My turn to do something fun?” he asks, but before she can tell him she meant it was his turn to stand on _her_ shoulders, he’s tilting his head and closing the distance between their lips.

Regina is fairly certain she’s the one who moves that final centimeter in towards a kiss.

He tastes a bit like icing and birthday cake, oddly, just sweet and wholesome and _delicious_.

His grips tightly at her, wet hands sliding up her back, pressing her further into him as he kisses her harder.

She loses herself in the feeling for a good while, lets things go from a few kisses to a heated makeout session. She has a hand on his cheek, the other on the back of his head, her legs now have a vice grip around his waist.

“Sorry,” he gasps, breaking out of the kiss as if he just realized that’s not something they normally do. “Couldn’t help myself.”

She bends down to cover his neck and jaw in kisses, and mutters, “I wasn’t complaining.”

Her legs slide, just a bit down from his upper torso to his hips, and that’s when she feels it.

Not that she should be _surprised,_ god knows _she_ is aroused, but she’s in his arms, making out with him in her underwear, and he’s hard for her, and probably thinking that this is going in a certain direction.

The thought of that stops her, has her pulling away, far back enough to see Robin’s face screwed in a remorseful cringe.

“I, ummm…” she thinks of how to word this, but he’s already telling her he’s sorry again, which is ridiculous, because _she_ should be sorry. “I can’t… I don’t want to—”

“God, then we’ll stop, you didn’t have to, I don’t want you to think—”

“No, I wanted to _kiss_ you, I just, I don’t think it would be fair to you to do more, and the nature of our relationship, is—”

“I’m not asking for more,” Robin says simply, as if it is preposterous to assume otherwise.

She glances down between them, and raises an eyebrow.

“Well, I can’t help _that,”_ He chuckles, and even in the moonlight, she can see the ends of his ears turn red. “You are who you are, I doubt I’ll ever be able to control myself when you’re all pressed against me and kissing me. But that doesn’t mean I _expect_ anything. You’re beautiful, and absolutely enchanting, and I want to kiss you. Until you tell me to stop, that is. I don’t want anything you can’t give, and I won’t be upset if you want to stop it. I promise.”

She’s not used to this, though. Not used to men not expecting to have their way with her and get nothing in return..

“So you’re okay just making out with me, with things getting heated, and then just… settling down and watching a bit of TV?”

“Mhm,” Robin says through curled lips, “anything you want. Trust me, I was fairly certain when I started kissing you that this wasn’t leading anywhere. And I didn’t mind — quite the contrary. Nothing is expected of you, I promise. And if you want to stop—”

She doesn’t want to stop, it turns out, because she’s kissing him again, shutting him up by placing her lips on top of his. She loves this, the idea he won’t ever make her feel like something is expected of her, like she’s teasing, or leading him on, or like she’s signed up for a certain end of the night scenario that’s already been written.

This is just them, in the moment, no future string of events set in stone.

So she keeps kissing him, for now, let’s herself indulge in what is right before her without thinking about consequences or worrying about the motives of the man in front of her.

It feels safe, and warm, passionate, yet oddly grounding.

His hands do eventually wander, slide down to grope at the swell of her bottom, grinding into soaked cotton. She rocks into the touch, mimics his action, and one-ups him, her hands sliding down underneath the drenched fabric of his boxers, cupping at the slippery skin underneath.

She feels his chuckle against her lips, but when she kneads into him more firmly, he doesn’t laugh, only moans, rocking into her core.

It’s like that for awhile, they trade hot kisses and inappropriate touches, she encourages him as he puts a hand underneath her own underwear.

He doesn’t wander to places _too_ inappropriate, just cups grabs at her in a way that makes her whole body tingle.

Things start building inside her until she’s flushed and hot, grinding into him to seek relief. And the very moment she reaches that point where chasing pleasure seems like a necessity, she comes to her senses and puts the brakes on everything.

She releases his mouth in a violent smack, treads back just enough, so she’s no longer touching where he is hard for her.

She locks eyes with him, waiting to find anger, entitlement or disbelief.

He gasps at the loss of her and then is breathing heavy, keeping the distance between them with a fucking _smile_ on his face.

“Sorry,” Regina breathes, because she is, really. She can’t fuck him tonight, can’t let him get close to her when his emotions are running high on his son’s birthday. Not when he’s nearly broke down emotionally at least twice today.

And definitely not when she has not yet told him that she is planning on leaving this city and his life forever.

Because he kisses her far too sweetly and he cares too damn much for her to just use him like this, knowing he’s letting her in in a way he doesn’t let others. Knowing that she will just hurt him further if she fucks him in a home he shared with his wife, and then leaves him like he never mattered at all.

He deserves better than that.

“No need to say sorry,” he assures, still a bit winded.

“No I… I got carried away. I shouldn’t have, um, I shouldn’t have jumped on you like that,” she feels her cheeks burning.

“Did you do it because you _wanted_ to?” he asks, stroking her arm, the gentle touch acting as a balm for her nerves. “Because if so, then you absolutely should have.”

“Of course I wanted it.” Her brows furrow in confusion, but Robin’s slight smile tells her he really did worry about her desire. Maybe he thought she was only doing it for him. “I… I can’t keep doing this with you. Especially _today_ , with everything you have been feeling all day with Roland’s birthday. I’m being selfish.” And that just has his entire face lighting up.

“Good.” He smirks. “You deserve to be a bit selfish sometimes.”

Not if it comes at the price of hurting one of the few people who has been good to her.

“This won’t end well,” she warns him. “And it’s not… it’s not a good time, after the day you just had, things are, a bit raw. We just shouldn’t do this, certainly not now. Trust me. There are still things you don’t know.”

He contemplates her words, and she can tell he considers arguing with her, but must decide against it, the way he sighs in defeat. “Okay. But for the record, I’m not even a little bit conflicted over what we’re doing right now. And I won’t ever be. I know it. And I won’t push you to tell me things I don’t yet know. I won’t push you in any way. But… well, I just really like you.”

She hates herself because she blushes deeply, and she can’t entirely hide the smile that creeps across her face, before forcing herself to look sternly at him and say. “I know, but Robin, this can’t happen.”

“I know,” he rushes to say, “I do. And I respect that. I won’t ask for any more of you, I swear. I have a crush, the first crush I’ve had since Marian, and… it feels nice. It doesn’t make me feel guilty, or wrong, the way it has when I’ve thought about seeing other women. It feels nice with you, and I’m grateful for it. And I am going to be grateful for it no matter what happens, no matter how this ends, okay?”

She wants to argue with him, because he really doesn’t know that. If they get as close as he wants — as they both want — what will he think when she disappears one day?

Mal’s voice is in her head, telling her to go all in, to just tell him already. And she really should, it’s just…

Well she’s confessing a _crime_ to him. And if he knows her plan, he could be in a tight spot. So it’s… it’s just not something to blurt out while swimming in underwear at midnight.

She shivers. “I’m starting to get cold,” she sighs, looking at her fingers, “and pruny.”

Robin looks at his own fingers and smiles. “Should our next competition be _Who Can Make It Into the House First?_

She practically leaps out of the water, throws a towel around her body loosely, and darts back towards the house, Robin on her heels.

 

.::.

 

He’s not really sure what’s gotten into him, lately. It’s midnight, his son his sleeping upstairs, and he’s outside, running in wet boxers that badly conceal an erection, chasing after a woman he likes far too much, that has directly told her he has no future with, yet he likes just the same.

Loves.

He’s in love with her.

There’s no doubt about it, no sense denying it or qualifying it as anything else.

He’d follow her anywhere, do nearly anything to see her smile, and his heart aches every time he sees her uncomfortable.

Her hair is curly, it turns out. He’d known that before, but he didn’t know exactly _how_ curly until now, when it’s drying in spiraled tendrils. It is gorgeous, especially like this, unruly and free.

She had smoothed a hand over those messy tresses, complaining that her hair will dry into a frizzy puff, but she hasn’t tied it back yet like she’s said she ought to, hasn’t tried to hide its natural state from him, and he is grateful.

Every little new thing he finds out about Regina just has him even more smitten.

She’s next to him now, smelling of plain dove soap and his laundry detergent, looking criminally sexy in his long sleeve shirt and sweats.

She’s not wearing anything underneath those clothes, he knows that, because her soaked unmentionables are air drying in his basement bathroom. That thought causes another punch of lust within him, mixing into the swirling emotions in his mind.

He knows this is going nowhere but god, it’s still thrilling, and new, and wonderful, feeling things for someone again.

She is sipping on tea, warming up on his couch as they watch an episode of Arrested Development.

“You sure you can’t stay?” he asks, after watching her yawn yet again. “You look tired. And the guest room bed is all made up and ready for you.”

“I’m sure, thank you.” She shakes her head in some attempt to wake herself up, and sighs, “I have so much to do tomorrow, and…” She scrunches her nose in that adorable way she has, “I’d really like to get back into some underwear.”

Robin nearly spits out his tea at that, laughing. “I’m almost regretting my idea to swim. Almost.”

Her lips split into a toothy smile. God, he loves the sight of her smiling. “This was… really nice, Robin. You’ve no idea how much I needed this.” She rubs at the back of her neck, and he sees the hint of the purple bruises underneath the damp curls, a reminder of the weight she carries on her shoulders, of the terrible things in her life she’s mostly shielded him from.

Regina is involved in something dangerous, careful as she is, and Robin can’t ever tell her to stop. He can’t even ask her for more of her story.

It’s not easy, loving her.

And yet it happened just the same, and it’s terrifying and painful and wonderful.

He knows people would think this arrangement is absurd, paying someone he loves just to spend time with them. Pathetic, and most people might think Regina is manipulative… But it keeps her from trying to find someone new, and avoids situations like whatever that man did to her shoulders, her neck, her knee. And Robin will benefit from it, because he’ll get to see her, and she has this way with him, this way of making him feel human again. So fuck what others would think. This works. For now, at least. He’s going to be her new client, and he’s going to be a perfect gentleman, and treat her the way she deserves.

She readies herself to leave when she takes the last sip of her tea, grabbing her still-damp garments from the bathroom. She promises to wash and dry the clothes he lent her, and he fights the urge to beg her not to. He quite likes her scent on his clothes, after all.

He wants to kiss her goodbye, desperately, but when they reach the door, he can tell she’s too anxious, too worried about the moment, so he opens his arms instead.

She goes willingly, folds herself into him, gripping him unexpectedly tightly, hugging him for far longer than he thought she’d let him.

“Text me when you get to your place,” he whispers into her hair, “just so I know you got in okay.”

“It’s a fifteen minute drive,” Regina points out. “But, if you insist….”

“It’s late, and you’re tired. I do insist.”

“Alright. Thank you for everything tonight,” she breathes again.

The house feels empty and cold when she leaves. Robin cleans, distracts himself from his knocking heart.

He’s in bed for the night when he sees her text, assuring him she made it safe.

He’s exhausted, and so is she, but somehow that message turns into a one hour chat back and forth.

Sleep claims him eventually, his mind dizzy and drunk on emotion, as he stubbornly hopes and dreams of things he knows he cannot have.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Enjoy this short chapter update. I'm working on more I promise :)

She _really_ shouldn’t be doing this.

That is all that keeps playing through her head the entire drive up to Edgewater Beach.  Her stomach is doing nervous flip flops, swirling with the same dreadful ache she would suffer from before an exam she hadn’t prepared for, for every unethical aspect of her job with Gold, for those fleeting moments when she started escorting where she felt wrong and dirty.  Her chest is constricted as she goes to park, the sun stinging, seeping into her eyesight even with the visor down. God, it’s a beautiful day, what an odd match for her dreary, icy mood. This is selfish. And stupid.

“Mom, what’s the matter?” Henry asks from the backseat.  She curses herself for being so transparent (or Henry for being so perceptive).

“Nothing, Henry!” she assures, even as the weight on her chest pushes more heavily against her heart.

“I thought you _wanted_ to go to the beach,” Henry mutters.  

“I do,” Regina insists.

She does, she really does.  A day at the beach is exactly what she’s wanted for quite some time.  And that’s why this is all wrong.

Because this is supposed to be Robin’s date, _for him,_ but instead it’s exactly what she wants, and he knows it.

Robin had called her Monday morning, his voice all bright and cheerful and wonderful, asking if he could set up his two _appointments_ with her.

And she really wanted to say no, or at least let him know where his money was going but… well, the words stuck in her throat.

And then he told her for his four hour appointment he wanted to take her and her son to the beach.  

“Just for a few hours,” Robin had explained, “if Henry is available, that is.  I know the boy is busy.”

And she really wanted to go and spend the day in the sun, with an extra pair of eyes to watch the kids, to not have to hustle to find another client… god, it sounded wonderful.

So she had accepted.

He hasn’t paid her yet.  Tried — attempted to stop by her office to drop off an envelope of cash, but, well, she avoided him.  She won’t take his money until he knows what she’s using it for.

So she told him she knows he’s good for it, that they can settle up sometime later this month.

He hadn’t protested.

But now she’s thinking about how much she’s going to enjoy this child-friendly  outing he’s paying for, this manufactured little glimpse of what life would be like for a blended family.

And every second she spends getting more attached to him is a mistake.  She can’t hesitate when the time comes for her and Henry to leave the city.  She can’t make any real friendships, and she certainly can’t develop an… infatuation with someone.  She has to keep herself pleasantly detached, so when she runs away from all of this, when she and Henry start a new life, in a new town, with new names and new backstories, she won’t ever be tempted to contact anyone from her old life.  She won’t put her son in danger because she got too attached.

But she’s so starved for companionship she finds she really doesn’t want to let this go.  

More sensible voices are telling her to call this whole thing off, but then she sees Robin with sunglasses, a ridiculously sized beach bag and separate bag of beach toys, with an oversized umbrella.  He’s dragging a rolling cooler behind him (that’s not going to be helpful once he hits the sand), and there’s cheery Roland on his arm. Anxiety melts away, replaced with a flood of bliss and laughter.

He looks so ridiculous carrying all these items.  So awkward. And so, so, unfairly cute.

“Come on, I see him!” Regina says, pointing toward Robin as she opens the car door.

Henry is just as amused as she is, it seems.  He laughs about how Robin looks like he’s going to fall carrying all of that, and Regina can only nod, pop the trunk and hand him their beach bag while she carries their cooler.

Actually, today may be a good day.  

.::.

She’s still wearing her cover up while they get everything situated.  But it’s late in July, and the sun is hot, so she won’t be in it long.  

She’d slathered Henry up with 45SPF sunblock as soon as they hit the sand, scoffing at Robin’s choice of sunscreen and tossing it aside, giving Roland a good lathering of the stronger stuff.  

And then she’d nodded when Henry asked if he could jump in the water, a small reminder that he couldn’t  go any further than wait-deep until she joined him.

“Promise!” Henry said, running off towards the gentle waves.

Roland, on the other hand, has been content to make sandcastles not too far away from their blanket.  He’s digging something, lost in his own little world as she sets up blankets and puts up umbrellas.

Robin takes off his shirt first, and it’s absolutely nothing she hasn’t seen before (recently, so very recently) but she still finds she can’t help but indulge in refreshing her memory.

Henry is in the water, Roland humming to himself as he plays in the sand, and she doesn’t have to worry about letting her gaze linger just a bit.

It certainly isn’t going to bother Robin, who grins back at her sheepishly, raising his eyebrows as if he can’t believe she’s really gawking at him.

“You’re so tan,” she says slowly.  “I mean, I knew you were, but…” she ignores his chuckling.  “You’re the English, blue eyed one, but you’re so much darker than me, and I’m hispanic!”

“Are you?” he asks, as if he is _really_ interested.  He sits down next to her on the blanket, cocking his head to the side.

“Well, part.  I’m part Columbian.  But my mother is American royalty.” She rolls her eyes at the memory of her mother, the posh Connecticut aristocrat, how she held herself as if there were still a class system in place.

He knows that they are no longer in the picture, but he looks like he’s itching to ask the backstory, so she says simply, “They are still out there.  Probably in Connecticut telling everyone I ran off to be a nun or died in a fire.”

Robin can’t help but snort at that, and she answers with a bitter laugh of her own.

“I expected mother to call when news travelled that I was engaged to Leo.  That’s an arrangement that would have made her proud. But I suppose I didn’t give her a proper wedding to brag about, a courthouse wedding doesn’t have the Cora flare.” She grimaces, thinking of that wretched wedding day, then steels herself and continues.  “I expected my father to call when news travelled of my divorce. I thought then… I was hurting, and down, and if he had cared about me at all….” She sighs and shakes her head. “He didn’t call, either. My mother must feel disgraced and upset, and dad always loved her more than me, so…” She shrugs.  “There it is.”

“I’m sorry,” Robin sighs.  “Truly, that’s—“

She doesn’t want his pity, and she doesn’t want his words of consolation; she doesn’t want to discuss her dreary past on this sunny day, so she cuts him off.

“As tan as you are, you still need sunblock,” she murmurs, grabbing lotion and tossing it his way.  It’s his weak lotion, not the strong, zinc-based kind she saved for the boys, but Robin can handle a little bit of sun, she supposes.

“But whoever will spread this on my back?” Robin asks with a devious smile.

She smiles back at him, takes off the little slip of a floral print cover up, and walks over to him, grabbing the bottle.

“I do yours, you do mine?” she asks, not caring how it sounds as she flops behind him and starts rubbing his back with lotion.

But his head is turned around, still trying to catch an eyeful of her.

“What?” Regina asks, pretending to be entirely unaware as to what he’s staring at.

He’s seen her naked.  And more recently he’s seen her soaking wet in a bra and panties.  He has no reason to be staring at her like this, but she finds she loves it.

She's wearing a bright, fun bikini, yellow with orange flowers.  She usually would have been more demure for a playdate with their sons at the beach.  But she has to worry about tan lines, especially thick tan lines that give away any illusion her clients may have of her being this reserved business woman during the week, who partakes in wild, lavish weekend plans that involve yachts and expensive champagne.  Instead of, you know, the single mom who spends her time on the beach building sandcastles with her son and the rest of her weekend grocery shopping and meal planning.

Because that’s not sexy or mysterious.

That doesn’t leave anyone wanting to know more, wanting to know her better.

So tiny bikini it is, which has worked out in Robin’s favor, it seems.

“Sorry, I’ve never seen you in something so colorful.” Robin shrugs, turning back around with a shy smile.

“I didn’t realize you were keeping track of my fashion choices,” Regina kids.  She puts a generous amount of lotion and spreads it over his shoulders.

This was a mistake.  They are too hard up for one another to be lotioning up in front of the kids.

“I’m not into fashion, but I will say I really like what you’re wearing right now.” He glances back and her and winks.

“I’ll bet,” she draws, doing her best to sound unamused.

She continues to spread the lotion over his skin.  His back muscles are hard and tight and solid, flexing under her touch.  And then he lets out an unexpected sound, a little hum that _almost_ sounds like a moan, and her thoughts become much too inappropriate for a group outing.

When it’s his turn to rub her down, he makes it seem like applying lotion is just an excuse to touch her— and she can’t say she minds.  He rubs and works the muscles of her shoulders, sliding fingers up and down her spine in a way that makes her shiver. He finds a kink in her lower back, just a stubborn little spot that she aggravated loading the car this morning.   The second he smooths over that spot, she makes a quiet little _hiss_ that he definitely noticed, the way he readjusts his hands and rubs at it.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

“Yes.  It’s just a little tight.”

He rubs until the muscle loosens, until she feels weak and jelly-like, the way she had the night he rubbed the kink out of her neck.

He has a knack for that, for rubbing sore muscles, maybe, or maybe just for making her relax.  

“Thank you,” she says when the rubbing becomes less helpful and more just… indulging in touching one another.

Robin stops and says, “Of course,” and then he flops down on the blanket next to her and asks, “So will you be swimming with your son?“

“I need to warm up a bit,” Regina sighs. She leans back on her elbows, sprawling her legs out, wiggling her toes.  “God, it’s beautiful out. I’ve missed the sun.”

Robin smiles, observing her, then taps her shoulder.

“Lie down, soak up some of the sun you’ve missed.  I’m about to drag Roland in, we’ll keep an eye on Henry.”

“Are you sure?  It’s… it’s _your_ time,” she reminds him.  

He shakes head.  “Can we not mention that? And just treat it like any other day?” She raises her eyebrows, gives him a second to rethink.  He may treat it like any other day but _she_ won’t.  The fact it’s a paid date is _always_ on her mind, and she’s going to keep it on her mind during this whole day even if it kills her.

He doesn’t rethink at all, doesn’t rephrase, so she sighs and offers a compromise.

“I won’t mention it,” she promises.

“Good,” Robin smiles and grabs her hand.  “I want to do this. Stay here and sun yourself a bit.”

She undoes the strips of her bikini and then lies down and lets the heat of the sun lull her into relaxation.  It’s been so long since she’s been able to enjoy this, to sit back and relax without worrying about Henry’s whereabouts.

She trusts Robin to care for him while she shuts her eyes.

.::.

Henry has been waiting for his mom to show up.  

She’s taking forever because she’s talking to _Robin._

Henry can’t go in the water higher than his waist unless his mom is with him.  So he’s stuck here, like a baby, while other kids run into water, out to where they can jump in the waves.

Everytime he looks back at his mom, she’s smiling and looking at Robin, and he’s smiling and looking at her.

He doesn’t think he likes it.

When he sees his mom staying, and Robin and Roland coming toward him, he thinks he definitely doesn’t like this.

“Where’s my mom?” Henry asks immediately as Robin bounds towards him.  

“She’s still too cold to join us.  And I think she wanted to get a little tan, so I told her to relax.  That okay?”

Henry might not like it, but at least _that_ is normal.  Mom always takes forever to get warm enough to come in.  And then she’s always complaining about the water being icky. She’d do this even if Robin wasn’t here.

Robin doesn’t seem to mind the water, as he runs into it, pulling Roland with him.  

“Henry!  Did you know that I’m in a swim class?  And I can hold my breath under water for the longest in the whole class _?_ And I can swim across the pool faster than anyone, and—”

“That’s enough showing off for Henry, my boy,” Robin says to Roland, but he doesn’t look mad, not really.  Roland probably won’t get in trouble for it. Robin’s not that kind of guy.

For a second, Henry is annoyed that he’s stuck with a little kid now, but Roland, really _is_  a great swimmer.  He dives into a little wave, kicking and swimming his way to the top with a proud smile.  

“Dad, can I jump off of you?”

Just when Henry shoots Robin a confused look, Roland is grabbing his arm, pulling his little body up.  Robin helps him onto his shoulders and jump off, and Henry is actually jealous.

Henry doesn’t really have someone to do those sorts of tricks with.  

He doesn’t really have a dad like this.  

“Want a turn?” Robin asks, as if he read his mind.  “No diving, but you can jump off my shoulders if you can figure out how to climb up here.”

It’s not hard, they are in water that’s nearly up to Henry’s armpits, and it’s easier to climb when there’s water, after all.

“Oof, you’re heavier than Roland,” Robin exclaims as he climbs and settles on his shoulders.  “Take it easy on me.”

“I’ll make you stronger,” Henry laughs, “it’ll be like your exercise!”

And Robin thanks him for the wonderful workout, laughing as Henry jumps off of him.

They trade on and off, just for a few more turns, climbing on Robin like he’s a ladder.  It’s really funny, actually. None of his friend’s dads are even this nice, or this fun. It’s easy to forget that his mom isn’t here right now, or to forget those feelings he can’t quite understand, the feeling of not liking Robin around his mom.

It’s nice, playing like this.

When the sun hides behind a cloud, things start to cool down.  And Henry thinks Robin might see him shiver, because then he’s saying, “You know, Roland will tell you I can build a quite impressive sand fort.  Complete with a moat and everything. I think we should get out of the water for a bit and give Roland a rest, would you like to help with our fort?”

Henry nods.  Robin glances at Roland and pats him on the shoulder.  “Go on, why don’t you run and get the buckets and shovels and meet us at the water’s edge?”

Roland pulls his goggles down over his eyes and nods, and then he’s swimming underwater, attempting to do the correct form, swimming for as long as he can to shore, until his belly nearly touches the sand below and he has to give up and stand.

Robin laughs.  

And Henry just watches as Roland makes his way to his mom.  And when he looks at Robin, well… it doesn’t look like he’s watching Roland as much as looking at his _mom,_ who is now sitting up and opening the cooler.  

Robin should be watching _Roland,_ not looking at his mom. Something angry sparks back in him, and this time he can’t quiet it inside of him.

“My mom said you aren’t her boyfriend,” Henry blurts out, looking at him sternly.

Robin doesn’t even look surprised.  “That’s right. We’re friends. Not dating.”

“She won’t ever date you,” Henry warns.  “She doesn’t date _anybody_ .  I had a friend once and his dad was single and I really liked _him._ And he asked my mom out and she said no to _him.”_

“I see.”  Robin doesn’t do what grown-ups usually do, doesn’t say he’s being silly or that he doesn’t understand adults and how they act around one another yet.  “Do you like that, your mum not dating anyone?”

Henry isn’t sure how to answer that, so he just shrugs.  He would like his mom to be happy, but she doesn’t ever seem happy when people try to get too close.  

And, in Henry’s experience, a lot of men aren’t nice.

“I don’t know,” Henry says, because it’s true.  “But I don’t think she is going to be your girlfriend, no matter how hard you try to make her.”

Robin takes that seriously, but he doesn’t look mad.  “Henry, I would never try to get your mum to do something she doesn’t want to do.  I promise.”

Henry is confused then, and blurts out, “That’s not why you’re being so nice to us, nice to me?  Always taking us out and spending time with me?”

“No,” Robin assures.  “I like you, Henry. I thought you knew that.“

“I do… or I did,” Henry sighs.  He’s not even sure why he’s so upset, why he doesn’t trust Robin.  “But then I see you look at her all mushy. And I know _you_ like her,” Henry notes. “Like, a lot.”

Henry is sure Robin will deny it, but he doesn’t say anything for awhile, thinking it over.  “I do, Henry, I like her a lot. She knows that.”

Henry is surprised, nearly squeaks, “She does?”

“Mhm,” Robin hums.  “But that doesn’t change the fact we are just friends.  Because your mom just wants to be friends, and I very much like being friends with you and your mom.”

Henry frowns, wondering if he can even trust him, because, well… “Logan’s dad acted like my friend.  And after he asked mom out and she said no, he never wanted to spend time with me again.”

Henry catches his mom staring at them now, she’s sitting up and leaning toward them, Roland munching on what looks like some animal crackers and sipping on a juice cup.  She seems happy.

It would suck if Robin stopped hanging out here.

“Well I already know your mum won’t date me, and I’m still here,” Robin says, and that’s true, isn’t it?  “I’m here because I like you both — and Roland likes you both, too. No other reason.”

“Okay…” Henry shrugs.  He believes him, he thinks.  Robin seems like a really nice guy.  There are tons of people who are nice to Henry.  He’s really lucky. But his mom… she doesn’t make friends as easily.  He’s not sure why. People aren’t nice to her, so she just always liked being alone.  And now he’s not sure what the change is.

“And you know, I think it’s very brave to stand up for you mum like that,” Robin adds, “You’re looking out for her, and that’s good.  And a hard job for a boy.”

Henry doesn’t do a good job of it, though, that’s the thing.

No one really notices that his mom is all alone, except for Mrs. Lucas and Mal.  

And she always seems to be busy but always seems to be lonely, too.

But it’s hard to explain that to a guy you don’t really know.

So Henry just nods his head and smiles politely.

“Let’s go get some snacks before my son eats everything, hmm?” Robin asks, before urging him towards the beach.  Henry doesn’t mind following him.

.::.

Regina has been watching them more than she hopes they notice.

It’s just that they are cute together, playing in the water.  Roland climbing up Robin’s body the way Regina had not too long ago, but it’s so different this way.

He’s such a dad.

And when Henry had joined in the fun, well, her heart had broken a little.  

He had looked so at ease, so comfortable.  It’s easy to dream about things she shouldn’t, seeing them all splashing and playing together.

It’s easy to want things she can’t have.  That Henry can’t have, either.

She’s almost relieved when Roland comes bounding forward so she can giggle with him, ask him about the cold water, offer him juice and animal crackers, and listen as he tells her how far they swam, and all the fun dives into the the waves and jumps into the water there were.

God he’s so, so cute.  Speaking of things she can’t have…

She thought she didn’t want any more children, thought she was okay with it.  But Roland’s eyelashes are dripping droplets of water, his cheeks flushed, wavy black hair drying in curly, sodden strands, hints of sand glistening in the sun, and all she can think of is bubble baths and storytime, cuddling up in a toddler bed, checking underneath beds and in closets for monsters.  

She forces herself to stop thinking about this before she spirals out, checks for where Henry and Robin have gotten off to.

They are talking.

She doesn’t know what about, but she can tell just by the way Henry is _standing,_ that it’s a serious conversation.

His back is all arched, his chin jutting up as if he’s trying to look older than he is, to impress upon Robin he’s speaking of something important.

And she isn’t sure what this is all about, and not knowing is actually more discerning than anything.

He’s a perceptive little boy, Henry is, and she’s never sure what he’s picking up on and choosing to stay silent about.

Whatever it is seems to resolve fast, however, because the next time she steals a glance at them, Henry is bounding toward her.

“Mom, you didn’t go in!” Henry chides, flopping down next to her with a grunt.  

“I know,” she smiles slyly.  “Since Robin is here I don’t have to chase after you in freezing cold water.” She still ruffles through his soaked hair, and Henry laughs and shakes his head devilishly, beads of water falling off of him and onto her skin.

It’s a little ornery, but far too cute for her to find it in herself to scold.  She lets him shake himself like a wet dog, closes her eyes to avoid the rogue drops of water, and even laughs at his antics.

“Are you done?” Regina asks, smiling at him.

“Yes,” Henry answers proudly.

Robin is approaching, so she thinks she only has a moment, whispering quickly, “What were you talking to Robin about?”

“Nothing,” Henry smirks, grabbing himself a bottle of water.

“I’m serious,” she whispers more urgently, “What were you talking about?  Was it—“

Henry clearly doesn’t want to tell her.  He even looks a little nervous to answer, and she’s not sure why.

“Don’t worry.  It was nothing important,” Robin says from behind her with a wink.  “Just guy stuff, right Henry?”

Henry flashes a grateful look at him that both melts and worries her at the same time.  “Right, Mom. Guy stuff.”

She’s skeptical, and really conflicted to find her son keeping secrets from her with her… friend.  Crush. Client. Whatever.

She’s _really_ confused as to why a big part of her likes the fact the two of them have a secret to share.

.::.

A good part of the rest of her day is spent sunning and watching as the boys play.  They build sandcastles and Robin tells elaborate stories of the people who live within them.  They eat, they play volleyball on the beach, they run back into the water.

Robin is really tiring them out.  And she should feel guilty for being so lazy.

Regina has dipped in the water a few times at Henry’s insistence, but obviously not enough to appease him.

Robin is actually _carrying_ her into the water now, threatening to drop her right in if she doesn’t  walk in herself. It is so reminiscent of her past life, her childhood. Those Maine beach trips when her father would playfully drag her into the water, and she’d shriek and wiggle but love every second of his attention.

She feels that same level of comfort, of happiness now.  She likes being in Robin’s arms, and the fact that he carries her so easily, as if she belongs to him… well, that’s an added bonus.

She even wraps an arm around his neck as he takes her out to the water (words of protest on her lips, but her body is _quite_ settled against his).  She lets him toss her in, screams, but drops her hands from around his neck.  She trusts him to throw her carefully.

And he does, gives her a little toss, as if her body were weightless, and she feels herself fly up in the air just a bit before gravity pulls her down, water splashing and sloshing around her.

She nearly swallows water laughing, cursing about how cold it is as Robin and Henry help her stand. The water _is_ freezing, and she’s shivering, but…

It’s like being outside on an icy day and drinking an almost-too-hot hot chocolate.  Or the feeling she had when Daniel took her skiing when they were first dating, and he helped her up when she fell into the wet snow.

It’s an odd sensation, she thinks, as she watches Robin interact with her son.  This feeling, being cold and warm at the same time.

It’s just a nice day.

Roland and Henry are busy kicking around a beach ball in some game Regina isn’t sure there are rules to, and she’s just free to enjoy the sun.

“What did Henry say to you earlier?” she whispers when she’s sure her son is well distracted and out of earshot.

Robin grins.  “I’m not sure I should say.  I told Henry I wouldn’t.”

Regina frowns.  “If he’s upset, or angry, I should know. I won’t talk to him about it, but is there anything I need to be aware of?”

Robin seems to think on that and then frowns.  “He’s just protective of his mum. And he’s perceptive enough to know I have a bit of a crush on you. I didn’t lie and try to claim otherwise, by the way.  He wanted to make sure I wasn’t just being friendly because I’m into you.” Robin chuckles, but Regina is mortified.

“He didn’t,” she whispers, her cheeks heating terribly.

“He’s just looking out for you.  He’s a good son.”

“He shouldn’t _have_ to look out for me.  He’s not supposed to be thinking his mom needs that.” She bites her lip, trying to organize her thoughts.  She’s caused Henry enough harm, her terrible decisions, he doesn’t need to be protective of her too. “It’s not what I want for him, to be worried over his mother, to sense that something's wrong.”

Robin seems to know what she means even though he doesn’t articulate it, “It’s normal for a son to behave like this.  You could be free of any issue in your life and that boy would still be keeping a watchful eye over his mum. It’s not you, Regina.  It’s just how some boys are. The best ones, anyway.”

They have one of those moments where they just look at one another, and Regina’s hand reaches out for Robins as if pulled by a magnet.

Thank god for the kids, because if they weren’t here right now she’d probably cuddle up to him, and that would lead to another heavy makeout session, she’s sure.

Thank god the kids are making her keep it together.

Just when she opens her mouth to say something terribly flirty, Robin’s phone chirps loudly.  He takes his hand away from hers to open it and silence whatever alarm just went off.

He grimaces.  

“We should be going,” he sighs, as he reaches for some of Roland’s abandoned toys.

“So soon?  Do you have someplace to be?”

“I think _you_ do.” Robin winks.  “I’m afraid our time is up.”

She furrows her brow, confused until she remembers this is a date Robin paid for, and it’s been four hours.  His time is up.

But really, what’s the point in dragging Roland away from the fun, when she’s enjoying herself so much?  And Roland will help wear out Henry so… really they are giving her the gift of an earlier bedtime and a few more peaceful hours to herself.

So she smiles and pats the sand next to her.  “Don’t be silly. Roland looks happy, and so does Henry.  Stay awhile.”

He doesn’t protest, falling back next to her with a smile and words of thanks he really doesn’t need to speak.

She shouldn’t be doing this, but it’s so easy, and he’s so nice to be around.  So they end up spending the rest of the day and early evening together, sharing a dinner of greasy pizza and a dessert at a frozen yogurt shop.  

Its unconventional, and certainly not professional.  But she manages to keep that voice of doubt out of her head until much later, after Henry is tucked in bed and she gives into the urge to text Robin, just to thank him for a nice day.

 _Henry passed out before 8 PM,_ she texts, _Can’t remember that happening in forever, so thank you._

Robin’s response is to send her a picture of his view.  He’s in his bedroom, she supposes, underneath a very… feminine floral comforter.  Probably picked out by Marian.

_Henry and I have something in common.  I'm exhausted. And I might have pulled something._

Before she can respond and apologize, thinking of a boy Henry’s size repeatedly climbing up a Robin’s body, he adds _Worth it, though, I think I enjoyed myself more than the kids._

She wants to agree.  But it’s too sincere to admit out loud, let alone to write down.

So she tells him she’s glad he had a good time, and thanks him again for treating Henry so well.

_Anytime he wants anything, please let me know. Always love to spend time with him — with or without you.  Roland is quite enamoured with him._

She responds a message of thanks that doesn’t begin to touch adequately on how she feels.

_Still on for Tuesday?_

He’s going to take her out for an early dinner, just the two of them, while Henry is out for pizza and a movie with his friends.

His two hour date.  That’s when she will tell him, she thinks, that she’s using the money to leave.

She will tell him then, and he will step out of her mess of a life.  Why invest time in someone who won’t be here in a year?

She should have told him already.  The real reason she keeps putting it off is obvious now.

She doesn’t want all this — whatever _this_ is — to end.

But it has to.  

Hugo _warned_ her that she would do this, that she would get too close to someone.  And she’s been determined to prove that smug bastard wrong. She can still hear his cocky laugh when she closes her eyes, and it enrages her...

_“Mallory Drake brought you here?  Truly? And what for, praytell?”_

_Hugo is a big man.  Intimidating. He’s eyeing her over in a way that is not sexual, but she feels exposed nonetheless.  She can feel him honing in on the bruise on her chest, on the sunkenness of her eyes, the way her fingers fidget, the way she can’t quite keep her knees from quivering._

_She’s so transparently weak. And it kills her._

_“Let me guess…” he says, not bothering to let her answer the question. “You want some self defense classes?”  His voice is deep, laced with a Russian accent that is detectable even in his bellowing laugh._

_“I can defend myself,” Regina says, narrowing her eyes.  “Mallory told me you may have a way to… convince my husband to give up custody of my child.  To divorce without a fight.”_

_Hugo laughs again.  “Well, Mallory knows I can be quite convincing.  Yes, I can pay him a visit, I suppose. Rattle him a bit.”_

_“He won’t be easily intimidated,” Regina says simply.  “He’s connected. Knows the police and judges well. He’s... very friendly with politicians in this town too.”_

_That seems to interest Hugo and something in his eyes change, he’s no longer seeing this situation as cute._

_“I see,” Hugo says, stroking his chin thoughtfully.  And then he pours himself a drink. “Yes, I suppose sending a guy down with a baseball bat won’t exactly work in this case, huh?”_

_“Doubtful,” Regina sighs.  “Plus there’s security to get around at his home.”_

_Hugo bites his lip and stares off into the distance._

_“And he knows people.  Politically.”_

_She nods and clears her throat.  “He, um, he somewhat_ **is** _people.  He’s uhh, rather high profile.  He’s—”_

_But Hugo cuts her off.  “I don’t want to know your real name, Alex, and I don’t want to know his name either.  Safer for all of us if I don’t know, wouldn’t you say? If he’s as connected as you say, I can offer you two options.  But neither are cheap.”_

_“They are?”_

_“The first is the easiest.  Elimination of the problem. Disposal of the vermin who abuses you.”  He points toward that stubborn bruise. “Nothing you should lose sleep over, after all.”_

_“I… you are saying you would_ **_kill_ ** _my husband?”_

_He looks at her with his head cocked and then simply sighs and says, “Strip.”_

_“Excuse me?”_

_“I said strip,” he says, with an almost bored tone that scares her.  He has a knife out before she can even think, walking towards her. “Strip or I do it for you.”_

_“Why... what…”_

_“I need to see you aren’t wearing a listening device,” he explains.  And then he grabs her purse and rifles through it, looking for a bit but not surrendering her items.  “I’m waiting.”_

_She strips.  She does. Shimmies out of jeans and her top and lets him look at her in underwear with his beady, prying eyes.  He walks around her, moves her legs open as if she were some sort of cattle, lifts her arms…._

_And she worries he may ask her to take off her underwear, but he doesn’t._

_“I’d ask you to remove your bra but there’s really not enough up top to hide anything,” Hugo smiles, tossing her clothes back._

_He keeps her purse though.  “This goes in the closet until we’re done.  Just in case.”_

_He tosses the purse away in a closet for safekeeping and turns toward her._

_“So…” Regina starts up, “You were saying you wanted to—”_

_“You hire me as a hitman.  A man like you describe? Will hunt you as long as you are alive.  He is like jaguar on the prowl. And you, a little deer he just had a bite of.  He will not stop until he devours you. So you enlist the help of a lion.” He points at himself.  “I take care of your jaguar problem.”_

_“I…” She wants him dead.  So, so, badly. But she also worries about a murder like that on her conscience.  There’s something inside her, a bit of darkness that she fears will spiral her out of control if she starts killing people._

_And Leo may deserve death, but there are family members that don’t deserve to lose him.  And on the off chance she was ever linked to his murder, god, what would Henry think of his mother, the murderer?_

_She wants him dead, but she can’t._

_“What is the other option?” she asks, her voice trembling in a way she hates._

_Hugo lets out another bellowing laugh.  “My little deer, the other option is to run.  To always run, run away. Run and hide where the jaguar cannot follow.  I will cover your tracks and help you find a new home.”_

_“I… don’t understand.  I can’t run. He would hire an investigator to find me before I even blinked, he—”_

_“You must really think little of me,” Hugo laughs.  “No, a man with political connections will not rest until he finds you.  But you would not be you. You would be someone else. New name. New passport.  New identity. New life. But I don’t recommend such an option for you.”_

_“W-why not?” she asks tentatively._

_“Because women like you can never really cut ties completely. I see you, emotion pulsing through with every beat of your tender little heart.  Your eyes are full of desire to be comforted, to be loved. You will surround yourself in people, and then never have the strength to leave them.  So this, my little deer, is not recommended for you. You let me hunt him, let me take care of the problem, so you can scurry off into the wilderness with your little woodsy friends.”_

_He misjudges her greatly, he has no idea just how alone she truly is, and it kills her that her loneliness is actually a positive for once._

_“I have no one,” Regina admits, her voice falling under the truth of the statement.  “No family, my mother cut me off before I married, and I assume my father decided to do the same.  No friends. He made sure I never had any friends. I have no one but my son.”_

_“That may be,” Hugo smiled at her pitifully.  “But you are not like me. You are lonely, but you crave a companion.  And by the time you can afford to pay me, I suspect you will have formed attachments.  And those will be your undoing, Alexandra.”_

_“I’m perfectly fine alone,” Regina lies, gritting her teeth.  “That’s the option for me.”_

_“Pay me $200,000 then,” Hugo snarls, smiling when her face falls.  “Don’t have the money on hand, I suppose?”_

_$200,000.  The sheer amount kills her.  She can’t get that. She can’t pawn a thing from Leo’s fancy home, the maids will notice it missing and the pawn shops will flag it anyway.  He’s never given her fancy jewelry. And she has no account of her own. She is… a kept woman. With no resources, no escape._

_Shit._

_“N-no, I don’t but, but I can get it, I can—”_

_“I’ll be here,” Hugo says.  “Several of my clients take years to pay the price.  My system never changes.” He hands her a card, a blank business card with nothing but a handwritten number.  “You use this number to contact me. You tell the person on the other end that you’d like a ticket to the greenhouse at sunrise.  Leave your number. I will get back in touch with you when I can. Do you understand?”_

_Regina nods, mind still swirling, wondering how she’s ever going to get the money she needs for this way out._

_“I doubt I see you again, Alexandra,” Hugo muses, licking his lips.  “You are prey, you are weak. This is too dangerous for you. You’ll stay with that man,” he gestures again to her bruise, “and that is your right.  Just remember, it hurts less each time. You lack the courage to kill him and the strength to live a lonely life. Were I to give you advice, it would be to focus on the positive.  Life is what we make of it.”_

_She commits herself then to proving Hugo wrong.  She’ll show him, she will prove that she isn’t staying with the man who abuses her.  She’s not weak._

_And he will see her again.  And she will get that new identity, and she will live a lonely life and love doing so._

_She will show him._

With that memory swirling in her head, sleep is almost impossible.  She cracks open the ambien bottle she tries not to rely too heavily on, and settles back in bed.

She doesn’t want to be prey for more powerful men, to be a convenient punching bag.  And she certainly doesn’t want that for Henry. And that’s all she will ever be if she stays here.  So she can’t stay here, and she can’t let herself entertain thoughts of staying, of settling down in this city that has become a prison for her.

She has to get out.   She has to leave. And she will, even if it means leaving Robin.

It’s too late now to protect herself for what’s to come.  She realizes that now. There’s no sense in trying to protect herself from becoming attached when she so clearly already is.  The second he leaves her life, or she leaves his, she’s going to be in pain. She’s going to hate every last second of not being able to ever see him again, talk to him.  She cares for him far, far too much, and it scares her to examine thought feelings more closely. It’s a bit more serious than lust and friendship, she knows that deep down inside.

She’s an idiot for letting herself get to this point.  But she has far too long a list of things to beat herself up about and this wouldn't even make the top ten, so she does her best to pocket away her self loathing and let sleep take her.  


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just keep reading. :)

The biggest sign that this is a mistake is how excited she is to see him again, and how she managed to _miss_ him when it has only been few days since she last saw him?

She has to admit the timing on all of this was not the best.  When she met Robin, she had been incredibly lonely and vulnerable.  She had to keep Mal at a distance — not for the first time — for the best interest of her son.  And so she hadn’t let her come to the house, hadn’t let her spend much time with them, hadn’t told her about any of her personal problems.  

So of course when the new client was kind, and caring, and for fuck’s sake, a single father, of _course_ she was going to fall all over him.

And it’s more than that, she knows, there’s something special about him, but fate brought him in at a very vulnerable time of her life.  And now she’s completely lost to him, and when he’s no longer in her life it’s going to crush her.

The worst is she’s known she’s done quite a good job at concealing how much she feels, really brilliantly.  He’s a nice guy, he probably wouldn’t pull away from her entirely if he knew how much she cares for him. But he doesn’t know, so after tonight, he’s going to pull away.  And then she will have to see him at every business meeting and pretend her heart isn’t fluttering.

Or maybe he’ll insist she be taken off the account.  Then she’ll be fired — he probably won’t do _that,_ he’s not that cruel.

But something bad is going to happen, she knows that much.  

And yet when she steps into her favorite tapas place and joins Robin in a corner table, that impending sense of doom leaves her.

She doesn’t go to more casual places like this anymore, where there’s people drinking beer from bottles and loud Spanish music carrying over from the bar.  It makes her feel relaxed and takes her back to a time when she was younger, before all of this mess had happened.

Robin is waiting for her.  It’s not like their first date when he was in a suit.  Now he’s just in jeans and a graphic tee shirt.

Despite the casual venue, he still stands up and gets the little cheap, wicker chair out for her, pushing it in as she sits.  She laughs. And then he takes a sip of his beer and looks over at her with a shared amusement.

“This is familiar.” Robin smirks.  “And yet very different at the same time.”

“It’s a nice venue change.”  She waves her hand around pointing at the ambiance.  “Reminds me of a place I’d go to in college all the time.  This place is slightly cleaner, though. And better food. But the place in college had deals on pitchers of sangria…” She lets herself revel in the nostalgia.  “We were friends with the bartender, he’d go heavy on the liquor for us. I loved that bar. Made some choice decisions there. But I don't regret any of it.”

Robin chuckles.  “I think I’ve made my share of those types of decisions over the years.  In college Will and John convinced me to take an impromptu trip to Mexico.”  He shakes his head. “A friend of ours had a house there, or rather, his rich uncle did.  We ended up getting into a fight with some of the people there, well, Will ended up being caught with someone else’s girl in one of the bedrooms, and he was threatened with a knife and told to get out.  I was in the pool and was kicked out with the clothes on my back. Had to basically break back into the party to steal my clothes and passport back.”

“Okay, you win.” Regina laughs.  “I never had _that_ much of an adventure in college.  I was a little too straight laced back then.”

“Mm,” Robin hums. “I’m a bit of a thrill seeker.  Drove Marian crazy, actually.” He frowns, as if he’s unsure whether he said something wrong, then gives her a grateful smile.  “You don’t do the thing.”

Regina cannot hide her utter surprise.  “What thing?” she asks, wondering what she’s supposed to be doing.

“The thing, the thing everyone does when I mention Marian.  They tense and worry about me, making little sympathetic faces even if I’m bringing her up as part of a good memory.  I’m always immediately regretting every time I bring her up, but with you…”

“I lost someone too,” Regina says, leaning in, wrinkling her nose.  “I know there’s a way to bring them up without pain. Or at least, more happiness than pain.”  She grabs his hand, “Continue your story. Were you dating Marian at the time of this Mexican trip?”

Her question seems to make Robin happy, who throws his head back and laughs.  “Yes, and it took me years to confess everything that happened during that trip because she would have _killed_ me.  And she already hated Will, had she found out his part in it back then, she might have punched the poor guy in the face.”

They trade stories then about college friends, the wild ones, the stupid ones, the troublemakers.  Regina had Emma, who was always acting first, thinking later, and it turns out she has her own similar story.  Emma had gotten them into enormous trouble when she suggested they go skinny dipping at a private home. Fence climbing was involved.  The owners were supposed to be on vacation - and they were, but their son had decided to pop in and spend the weekend there. And Emma, Elsa, and Regina’s impromptu moonlight dip turned into a frantic chase as they narrowly avoided being caught breaking and entering.

“Were you dating Daniel at the time?” Robin asks.  It’s only then she realizes that she's grateful for the way he brings him up, casually, without pity or sympathy.  She doesn’t have anyone to talk to about Daniel except for her eight year old son and Mallory (who is bored to death by now).  God, how she _craves_ talking about the person she loves so much.

“We were dating, yes,” Regina admits, and then smiles slyly.  “But Daniel was proud of me. I never did anything like that, I was a bit stiff when I went to college, years of prep school, I think.  They really helped me loosen up, my friends. Or old friends, I mean.”

He gives her a look of sympathy, and a bit of curiosity, but doesn’t ask where they went, why they aren’t in her life at all. Instead he asks, “That woman I saw you with back when you had that migraine, was she an old college friend?”

Regina laughs and shakes her head, and oh fuck it, she’s trusting him with her whole story, right?

“Mal is… well she works the same job I do,” Regina explains.  “The same _second_ job.”

“Ah,” Robin sounds, as if it were not a surprise, as if she were telling him they were coworkers at a firm together.  And she finds that reaction makes her more desperate to tell him more.

“I owe her a lot.  She’s the one who taught me all of this,” Regina explains.  Robin frowns, and Regina rushes to defend her. “Not without my begging her, though.  She’s my friend, not a… recruiter or anything. And she knew how badly I needed the money.” She takes a deep breath in and tilts her head, grasping at his hand and trying not to look as terrified as she is.  “Which reminds me. I need to tell you something.”

Robin scowls almost comically and asks, “Is it something that will make you upset to talk about?”

She’s almost crying already over how much he cares for her.  “Yes,” she admits. “And you’ll probably not love hearing it, but—“

“Then I think I’m going to make a request that we not talk about it now,” Robin says with an adorable smile.

Regina is shocked.  Of all the times he would pull the client card, she didn’t expect him to use it now.  

“It’s just that we were having so much fun before,” he explains, squeezing her hands.  “You were laughing, you seemed to be enjoying yourself, and I love every moment I get to see you like this.  And something tells me you don’t get to do it often. So, if what you’re telling me can wait, I’d love if we could press pause on this conversation for awhile.”

Regina frowns, contemplating.  He _is_ the client, and lord knows she doesn’t want to tell him she’s leaving and end this all.  She wants to pretend this is an actual date, drink whatever she wants and talk about a time when her life wasn’t a disaster.  She wants to ignore _everything_ that causes her anxiety and stress for awhile, but she keeps doing this with Robin, using him to escape the harsh realities of her fate, and it’s really not fair to him.

“It’s about why I, um, need my second job _,”_ she explains.  “I just think after everything, if we are going to do this? You deserve to know what your money is being used for.”

That seems to give Robin pause, and she prepares herself to launch into a speech she’s rehearsed a thousand times in her heard.  

“I won’t lie and say I haven’t been curious, and the fact you want to tell me means quite a bit.” But then he’s shaking his head.  “I have a feeling I’d rather you tell me when we have a bit longer together,” he muses, scratching his stubble with his free hand thoughtfully. “You need to get back to Henry soon, and I’d rather you do it with a smile on your face.  And I need to get back to Roland. So let’s just have fun, for today, and save that conversation for… well, whenever we have more time.”

“Soon,”  Regina says, more of a promise to herself than to Robin.  

“Is it something you _want_ to talk about?” he asks, biting his lip.  “Because if it’s on your mind and you can’t—“

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Regina admits softly.  “I just want to keep doing _this.”_ She grabs his hand and squeezes it for effect, paying just a moment to revel in how he squeezes her hand back and brushes his thumb against hers.  But she adds, “I don’t think it’s fair to keep you in the dark, though.”

“Don’t worry about me.” Robin assures.  “I don’t think there’s anything you could tell me that would change the way I feel about you, or _this_.”

He imitates her earlier action, his hand pulsing quickly around hers, and the action makes her feel warm and safe yet threatened at the same time.

Because he’s talking about the arrangement, this payment for time, but the way he _looks_ at her, god how he _touches_ her with this intimacy, it doesn’t feel like a business transaction at all.

It’s not, and that’s the whole problem.  

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Regina sighs.  “When you hear the story, I’m fairly certain you won’t want to continue this.”

“Nah, I think I will anyway,” Robin replies quickly.  “And I’ll prove it, when we have more time. Now let’s just have a relaxed time and talk about nonsense, yeah?”

This is probably a bad idea.

She has too many feelings for him, enjoys her time with him too much, wants him too badly.  

Romance has been the last thing on her mind for years and there’s a twinge of guilt as they talk. She really shouldn’t be indulging in this, she should be more worried about her son and sorting through her own messy life instead of entertaining sexual fantasies and _Pretty Woman-_ esque fairy tales.  But she lets that guilt go away the second Robin asks what is wrong.  He can sense the mood change, and he’s the client, so truly, she _has_ to put it behind her and just let herself feel.

“Nothing's wrong,” Regina says, relaxing as she breathes out a breath of air.  “Just in my own head a bit. Sorry.”

“How about a distraction?” Robin asks, a glimmer in his eyes, and yes please, anything would be welcome.  So she nods excitedly and breathes out a grateful _Please._

“Well behind you,” he whispers, “is a family leaving the restaurant side of this place.  See if you recognize anyone.”

She turns around quickly, spots a smiling mother talking to an excited little boy that she recognizes instantly.  But he looks so much happier now, so comfortable, thank god. She hated leaving him so upset the last time they met.

“Ben,” she says, almost in shock that Robin remembers the boy they met so long ago at their first “date”.  The reason she had let herself get so close to Robin is smiling and gabbing with family members that love and care for him, and it’s oddly relieving.  It’s a stark contrast to the crying, scared boy they had met, the rude father that reminded her so much of Leo.

God, Robin knows her story now, or most of it.  He must realize what his actions meant to her, how caring for that child affected her, being the child’s advocate, protector, if only for a small moment.

“Yeah,” Robin smiles back at her warmly.  “Small world. He looks happy.”

“He does,” Regina watches as mother and child are joined by two elderly people who appear to be Ben’s grandparents.  They leave together, looking like a perfect family.

She hadn't realized it until now, but she had worried about that little boy still, despite barely knowing him.

“A happy ending,” Robin offers. “He seems entirely unphased and in good hands.”

And he does, he really does, despite the mess of a father he has, the boy seemed to not have a serious care in the world.

“I can’t thank you enough for everything you did that first night we met.” Regina’s cheeks heat at the way it sounds.   _Everything._

This is ridiculous, even if it does sound like she’s thanking him for orgasms, she’s an escort,  she shouldn’t be so shy.

“You did more for me than I did for you,” Robin assures.  “Trust me, it’s true.”

She can’t help it, her mind is already there, so she teased him.  “Well, I suppose so. _Four_ years.”

Robin nearly chokes on his beer laughing.  “Hey. That’s unfair. What happened that night stays in that night.”

She raises his eyebrow at him pointedly.  “Definitely,” she smirks, before stealing a piece of manchego cheese off his plate and taking the smallest of bites.

“You look so beautiful when you’re destroying my ego,” he flirts back, and it is so hard to suppress a giggle that would no doubt satisfy the hell out of him.

She looks him up and down, from those twinkling eyes to that smug little half-smile, to the way his body is leaning toward her.

“You don’t look like a man who has any problem with his ego at all.”

“A clever disguise.  I’m crushed to pieces inside.” His hand cups at his heart tenderly in a dramatic way that earns a little chuckle from her, but then he sighs and everything shifts and his expression becomes sober.  “Honestly, I am sure I was an absolute mess that night, and probably a bit, um, overeager, so to the extent that I made you feel—“

He’s so cute when he’s embarrassed, red streaks of heat color his face, and he has trouble meeting her eyes.

“You don’t have to apologize for anything,” she waves off.  “You were fine.”

“Yeah?” he asks, almost hopefully.  And she knows what part of the night he’s hinting at now.  It wasn’t what she meant, but now that he’s mentioned it… well, maybe it’s time she clear him up of some things he may be misremembering.  

“I was honest when I said I was enjoying myself that night. It’s why I slipped up and said my _own_ name, it’s why I tried to hard sell you on making another date…” she smiles shyly and reaches for one of his hands again, looking down, watching the two of them join there, thinking of all the other ways they have joined, how easy it felt.  “But you already know this, I’m sure. I mean, I practically dragged you into bed for another round.” Saying that stone cold sober is a brave admission, and it makes her nerves stand on end. It’s a good feeling building inside her, though, not a dreadful wave of anxiety but a steady current of… anticipation, she assumes, as she slowly looks upward to catch his reaction.

He doesn’t disappoint, his ears are a fiery red, grinning wide as he bites his lip, eyes twinkling at her.  

“I did _not_ already know that,” he admits.  “I thought that was sort of, part of, um, well, the entire experience? For you to act, like…” He shrugs his shoulders as he trails off, but he doesn’t have to finish, she knows what he means.  He asked for the girlfriend experience. And in the minds of many men, what girlfriends do is get really, really enthusiastic about sex, have orgasms, initiate second rounds, cuddle.

Everything she did.  Except….

“I’m not that good of an actress,” she reveals.  

“I think you are,” he says easily, looking absolutely self satisfied when she shrugs in agreement. “I’ve seen you with a migraine that would probably have most on the ground reeling.  And if I hadn’t known the warning signs I wouldn’t have been able to tell, at least at first. You acted quite pleasant. You’re pretty brilliant.”

She winces thinking of the pain of that day.  It’s nothing she’d like to experience anytime soon.  “I’m pretty good, but not _that_ good.”  And she’s going to be bold and go there.  “But speaking of hidden talents, if you hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t have guessed it had been years since your last time.”

Robin nearly spits out his drink.  They danced around the subject, but he must not have expected her to go there.

“Now that we cleared the air, I believe you were telling me a story about John and Will?”

Robin nods, and launches back into a story of a vacation they took last year to Vegas where they believe John was unwillingly roofied.  Either that or he had far too much to drink.

“I was sold on the trip as a way to get me to embrace single life, have a wild time with my best mates, but I ended up playing babysitter because it turns out neither of them can hold their liquor.”

He delves into their antics to find women, gamble, and drink and eat their weight in buffet food, and it's actually quite amusing.  He’s a good storyteller. But she realizes he hasn’t told much of his own story in this trip, just everyone else’s.

So when he’s talking about the women John and Will were after, she can’t help but ask, “And what women were you after?”

Robin is caught off guard, purses his lips and the smiles softly.  “No one caught my eye that trip.”

Bullshit.

“No one?  In _Vegas_?” Regina asks, her eyebrow deliberately arching toward the ceiling.  “And here I thought we were going to be honest with one another.”

He rolls his eyes in defeat.  “Well this was about two years ago.  It had been awhile, I was certainly lusting after _several_ women, but I had absolutely no desire to flirt and make small talk with anyone.  The prospect seemed absolutely exhausting, and a bit depressing.”

And Regina knows exactly what he means.  It makes sense. Though for some reason, imagining Robin all riled up and wanting is riling _her_ up.  What in the hell has gotten into her lately?

“You just wanted the sex, not the conversation,” she says wryly, trying to ignore the seeds of lust trying to take root inside her.  

And he shrugs.  “Well, when you put it that way, I sound like a prick. But…” he takes a swig of beer, then sets it down.  “Yes, I was desperately horny the entire trip with absolutely no desire to even try to be with a woman. That was a rather frustrating part of the trip. In a way I was glad for Will and John’s antics.  Kept me distracted.”

“Mmm, so after that, did you—“

“Jerk off furiously?  Yes.”

Regina nearly chokes on her seltzer water, laughter erupting from her half filled mouth as she fights to swallow and clarify. Well, honest indeed.

“No,” she manages to say between coughs and giggles, “not what I meant, but good to know.  I meant is that when you looked into _my_ industry?”

“Oh,” Robin says as if he truly is surprised her question wasn’t related to his masturbation habits.  “Yeah, Will actually wanted to visit one of those brothels outside of Vegas, but I shot the whole thing down, as did John.  But he made an impassioned argument, and then I looked into it when I got home and got really desperate.”

Well this frank discussion isn’t helping her hormones settle at all.  She squeezes her thighs together for a bit of relief, but all it does is make her acutely aware she wants more.  Damn it.

“Desperate,” Regina repeats, tilting her head in understanding.

“I wished I could fast forward through the awkward beginning of a relationship, right to where you feel connected, and comfortable, and can just…”

“Watch netflix and have great sex?” Regina finishes for him, kicking him softly under the table.  They are in dangerous territory now, and she should abort and talk about puppies or flowers or something _not_ sexual, they really should.

“Yes.  Though I’m going to reiterate: that wasn’t what I meant when I said I wanted to watch Netflix with you, for the record.”

Regina snorts in disbelief, then instantly regrets it, it sounded ugly enough; she can’t imagine how unsexy it _looked_.  Robin looks more enamoured than ever, though, so she fights through the embarrassment.

She tries to move on to safer subjects, but by the time they finish their meal and move on to coffee, the sexual tension is so strong it’s nearly suffocating.

She excuses herself to the bathroom (she could use a moment to cool down, without his voice and his eyes and his cologne and his _everything_ permeating her thoughts and clouding her judgment).

She takes her time redoing her makeup and taking deep breaths, reminding herself that she needs to get back to her son, so she better tone this down a bit.  

But she really, really wants him.

But it really, really can’t happen. No matter how good he looks and smells.  Definitely not now that he doesn’t know she’s leaving soon. She doesn’t get to make out with him _again_ (definitely doesn’t get to do the long list of other things).

She’s almost able to get herself in the right headspace before closing the little bathroom door and nearly walking smack into Robin.

He’s leaning against the wall, waiting for her, it seems, looking absolutely adorable and sexy at the same time.

“I paid and they were fast with the check,” he explains.  He’s smiling, just a bit, but his eyes wander down and settle on her lips in a way that makes her so nervous.  She tells herself it’s the loud music that has her leaning in closer. Just to hear him better. God, he smells good, she can smell his aftershave over all the spices and cooking food in the air.  She watches him swallow before continuing, his voice raspy and deep. “Figured I’d wait for you, I didn’t want you to come back looking for me and think— mm!”

She’s the one who kisses him, hooking one hand behind his neck before pressing herself against him, but he's the one who acts fast, walking her backward until she’s back in the little bathroom, slamming the door shut and locking it blindly without ever breaking the kiss.

“Thank god,” he moans, “Wanted to kiss you so bad all night.”

“Me too,” she whispers, then she’s kissing him again, letting him grope her ass greedily as she lets her mind spin out, only thinking of the lustful moment, of what she wants to take, and what she wants to give, and how nice it will feel…

“Thank fuck. I thought it was just me,” he mutters.

She can’t help but laugh as he dips back down to kiss her neck.   _“Definitely_ not.”

And then she’s back to kissing him, sliding a hand under his shirt to feel up his torso, his appreciative groan spurring her on.

He picks her up, has her hiking up her skirt and wrapping her legs around him as he presses her back against the wall.

She’s lined up perfectly with the bulge in his pants, and she’s not really able to resist grinding into it as they kiss and touch.

“Fuck,” Robin moans, “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

She loves that he wants her so much, she wants him too, wishes she could just live a normal life and be with him _forever_ , god damn it.

She feels herself being pulled down to Earth, thinking of the fact that they can’t have this, and he doesn’t even know the reason they can’t.  

Fuck, this is unfair.

“We, um…”

She starts to say that they can’t do this, but Robin is kissing down her neck and she loses all ability to think.

“God that feels good,” she moans. “But we should—“

Something beeps, and Robin’s eyes grow wide.  He moves away from her, practically drops her to the ground doing so.

“Shit,” he says, “Fuck, Regina I am so, so sorry.  I told you I would never ask this of you, and you were trying to get me to stop, now I’m just, fuck I completely forgot this was, you know, _my time._ I got caught up and-- fuck!”

She sees him fumbling for the phone, and then she recalls the fact he’s paid for this time.

“Robin, it’s alright.” She reaches for him, cupping his cheek, but he won’t look at her, he’s facing the floor, looking very much like an ashamed puppy.  “Robin, I kissed you. I wanted to.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he argues, looking up at her with a remorse that touches her.  “I said I wouldn’t, and—“

There are probably better ways to shake him out of this guilt, but they don’t have much time and she’s still a bit needy for him.  So she crashes her lips into his in a frustrated kiss, just to shut him up, just to make it clear to him that’s not the problem.

It takes a few split seconds before he kisses her back, as if he’s deciding whether it’s more polite to resist or be welcoming.

But he makes the right decision, kissing her back passionately until they are both breathless.

She pulls back from him gently.

“It’s not that I don’t want to do this. I’m telling you that we need to stop because I’m being unfair to _you_.”

Robin chuckles and leans close to her. “Trust me, you are not being unfair, and even if you are, I don’t care very much at the moment.”  He tries to kiss her again, but she turns her head.

“I can’t,” she whispers, and he gives her space immediately — too much space, actually, enough to where she’s reaching for both of his hands and taking them in each of hers.  She amends. “No matter how much I like it — which is a lot, for the record. I can’t keep doing this, because…”

She swallows hard and looks into his eyes.

“I’m leaving, Robin.”

She watches his face, the way his brow dips and furrows, then pops up in almost… worry.  

Or confusion, because then he asks, “What?”

She takes a deep breath in.  God it’s not something she wants to be sharing when she has to go pick up her son in half an hour, but…

“The custody agreement Leo arranged forced me to stay within a ten mile radius of the city.  I can’t just move away, he will _always_ have a hold on me in this city.”

“I figured,” Robin says, stroking up and down her arms with his hands.  “That can’t be easy. But you’re going to try to do it anyhow? Change the custody agreement and move away?”

“No, I’ve given up on that.” Regina sighs.  “I’m working on a chance to start over. Completely.  New name. New identities. A place to go where Leo can’t follow.  But I have to sever ties with _everyone,_ Robin.”

She waits for him to catch up, to understand what she’s saying.  And that’s a stab to the heart, as prepared as she is to see it, the guilt she feels is almost overwhelming.  

“I don’t think this is the best place to talk about this,” he says after an achingly long pause. “Come on.”

He kisses her on the cheek, tenderly, and then opens the bathroom door, peering out before he leads her out into the empty hallway.

Each step feels like a walk to her execution, there’s this weightless feeling, like she’s falling into a pit of dread.  He’s going to yell at her, tell her she’s awful for breaking his heart. Or maybe he will be sweet and tell her thank you being honest, but he really can’t do this anymore.  Or tell her how stupid she’s being, or…

He is leading her out of the restaurant entirely, and it occurs to her that he probably doesn’t want to cause a scene with what he’s going to say.  

She hates how scared she is as she steps outside.

And then he surprises her entirely when they get a few steps away from the restaurant door by wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into a tight hug.

It’s welcome, and _needed._ He feels so damn warm and loving like this, the way he runs his fingers through her hair, the way he presses her against him, gentle, yet firm, somehow.

She doesn’t want to break away from him any time soon.

“I don’t really know what’s going on,” he says in a broken whisper that almost sounds like a laugh.  “I have a million questions, more than you could answer before you have to leave to pick up Henry, many I’m sure you won’t want to answer.”

“I will answer everything,” she promises, breaking out of the hug. “I have,” she glances at her phone. Shit.  “Twenty minutes before I have to go to Henry. Do you want to go for, um, a walk?”

He bites his lip, then leans against the side of the restaurant.  “I was thinking a short drive?” When Regina hesitates, he adds, “I just want to talk to you about this with some privacy and without worrying someone is going to knock on a bathroom door and interrupt us.”

God she wishes she had just waited to tell him until they had a moment alone and all night to talk.  At his house or hers, where she could explain, and he could scream at her if he wanted, she could cry if she wanted, but it’s public and they are both so reserved in public settings.

A car is as private as they have, so she squeezes his hand and says, “Let’s go.”

They continue holding hands as they walk, silently for a few beats, until Robin clears his throat.

“Does Henry know you two are leaving?”

“No,” she shakes her head.  “He has to keep enough secrets in his life.  I can’t add another and expect him to act normal.”

“Right,” Robin breathes.  “So the money you get from, uh, dates, that’s all going towards buying your freedom.”

“Yeah, new identity, new place to live, new backstory…” He’s squeezing her hand tightly, then fumbling in his pocket for his keys.  “Like a privately funded witness protection program. Without the testifying part or the… possibility it ever ends.”

They walk up to his car, he’s leading her to passenger side gently, and she has a rush of affection for him.  Still being a gentleman and opening the car door for her, still treating her way better than she deserves.

“I’m sorry.  I should have told you sooner, before we became… like this.”

He shakes his head, a sad smile spreading on his face as he admits, “It’s not exactly an easy thing to share.  I understand you not telling me right away. And I don’t regret a single thing, including being like this with you.”

He opens the door for her and then kisses her on the forehead again before walking to the driver’s side.  She wonders if that is all it will be. He’s all platonic touches now, she realizes. Maybe he pities her, or worse, think she’s being reckless and stupid, and has shifted into the role of concerned parent.  

When he opens the door to sit in himself, she already has a retort prepared.

“I thought of this from every angle, you know,” she says almost accusingly.  “As long as I stay here, he runs our lives. He controls everything. My daily life is dodging bullets aimed in my direction.  Leo is just waiting for a weak moment to pin something on me. And sooner or later something is going to _stick._ And I’m going to lose him.”

“I’m not judging you, Regina.” Robin assures, starting the engine, the air conditioning, but not driving, just stalling in the parking lot.  “I’m curious, I’m worried, and I’m a little…” he shrugs, takes in a deep breath. “I am really going to miss you. Terribly. I don’t like the idea of never seeing you again, at all.”

“I don’t like it either,” Regina admits, softening a bit.  He doesn’t sound like he thinks she’s crazy, at least. “I didn’t mean to get so close.  I’m going to miss you too.”

“Don’t apologize for getting too close.  Don’t _ever_ apologize for that.” Robin says, grabbing her hand and squeezing it gently.  “As for everything else… I’m not going to pretend I can find a solution that doesn’t take such a drastic action on your part.  I know you’re brilliant. I know you didn’t make this decision lightly. I just want to hear the story. So I can understand.”

She takes a deep breath and launches into it.  “It’s too long to tell right now. But I did try other solutions.  With other parents, when money is an issue they allow you to move for new jobs, to better your child’s standard of living.  So I searched for a great out-of-state job for months. I found one about three years ago and tried to amend the custody order to allow me to move and keep everything else the same. David is _the best_ , and we had the _best_ conditions available, a good Judge, a good job, a good record… and it just didn’t work.  If I moved we would have to readjust the entire agreement, retry everything all over again.  And Leo would be able to say if Henry stayed with him he could be in the same environment, schools, friends…” she sighs, because reliving that isn’t easy, especially considering that he’s trying hard to take her baby away from her again, and she knows how terrible it could go.

“And then David told me that even if I moved, all custody battles will be tried _here._  So I’d be stuck fighting Leo forever in a city where he’s abeloved man from a beloved family.  I’d lose eventually. So we dropped it. I turned down the job offer and agreed to remain here. Every day was a struggle, and Leo was so threatening and so abusive, his whole family had it out for me.  And I could take it if it were all directed at me. But it was Henry he was after, and I _know_ he’s not safe.”

“You shouldn’t have to take it from anyone, even if it was just directed against you,” Robin argues, and Regina isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.  He’s so similar to her other friend, sometimes, it’s almost too much.

“Mal said the same thing.  She was very adamant that I fight back, but I didn’t know how, really.  But she knew someone she thought could help. So I contacted him. I am fairly certain Mal figured I would hire him to kill Leo,” Regina laughs dryly.

“I wouldn’t blame you.” Robin says the words so easily, so earnestly, Regina’s mouth nearly falls open in shock.  His face screws in surprise at her reaction. “What?”

“You’re so… straight-laced.  And _moral_ .  I didn’t expect a man as good as you to be okay with any of this, definitely not with _murder.”_

He chuckles.  “I’m not so good.  And I’ve not always been so straight-laced. You’re in a terrible situation, and I might not condone murder, but I certainly would understand why a woman in your situation would consider it.  It’s more like… an odd case of self-defense.” He strokes her cheek softly, and she leans into his hand, lets him give her the touch she craves.

It doesn’t feel so paternal or platonic, not right now.  

“Honestly you could tell me you had murdered someone and it wouldn’t change how I see you, or what I think of you.  I… I can’t explain it. I know you. I know your heart.”

Regina has had a string of bad luck in her life, so bad that she will never be able to believe she had the good fortune to stumble upon someone like Robin.  Someone she can admit to plotting _murder_ to and just have him shrug and say he understands.

So she kisses him.  Just a light peck, but hopefully he can feel the emotion in it.  The hand that isn’t holding his wraps around his neck, cupping it gently.  When she pulls away he pulls her back for another.

She has to leave soon, so she sighs and tells him, “I couldn’t do it.  Not that I didn’t want to, I did. I still do, just so you know. But if I was ever caught, and my son found out what I did?  Henry is only eight, but he’s so _good,_ he’d be so upset to learn what I did — just the thought terrifies me.”

“So you looked into a new identity,” Robin finishes for her.  “And this man can give it to you?”

Regina nods.  “It’s a lot of money.  You need new information, forged records from the past - all of Henry’s school records will be brand new and completely made up.  And for me, for Henry, I can’t just put him up in a little hotel for months. So I need to set up a new apartment, or house, I need all that as soon as possible. So I need a _lot_ of cash.  My bank account is tracked, because Leo pays child support and he’s constantly challenging what I spend.  It needs to be all under the table. So…”

“So this job is the most lucrative way to earn extra cash without there being any trail to the money.” She sees the understanding in his face, thank god, she won’t have to explain much more.

“Yes.” She nods her head, and lets out a breath slowly.  “Aren’t you going to… I don’t know, yell at me? Tell me this is crazy?”

“Your situation is crazy, under those circumstances this isn’t too absurd at all.”

“You must have a thousand questions.”

Robin nods his head vigorously.  “But you don’t have time to answer them now.  I just really want to ask you one for now.” He brushes back a stubborn strand of hair, tucking it behind her ear gently.  “When? When will you be leaving?”

She bites her lip.  “At this pace, I’m on track to be able to pay for everything by the end of the next school year.   It has to be then. I don’t want to pull him out mid year. It will complicate things. And I don’t think I can wait another year.”

Robin nods. “So I have a good ten months with you before that happens.”

Regina balks at that, unable to stop the sound of disbelief from coming out of her mouth.  “Will you even _want_ to see me anymore?”

“Of course,” Robin says softly.  “And I’ll keep the dates, same as we agreed.”

“Why?” she chokes.  “We know this is… something.  And we’re getting too...” Damn it. Why are words so hard all of the sudden?  “There are feelings, and one day I’m just going to leave without even saying goodbye.  The more time we spend together, the worse the end is going to be.”

He is silent for a moment, and she nearly curses herself, because she’s done it, she’s convinced him to leave.  And then he surprises her yet again.

“I don’t think I’ll be any more hurt this way.  I, err, I want to talk about this more. Not here, you have to leave soon. Just…” His hands are in her hair again, always in her hair, it seems.  It feels natural and soothing. A kind of touch she doesn’t know she needs until the moment he gives it to her. “If you can spare a whole night, it’s asking a lot, but—“

“Of course,” she interrupts, because that is the absolute _least_ she can do.  “Next weekend, Saturday night— I've got the time.”

She doesn’t, really.  She will have to cancel another appointment, and it’s really dumb to cancel an overnight but she doesn’t really care at this point.  It’s _Robin,_ and they need the time.

“You’re sure?” Robin asks, looking absolutely relieved.  “I don’t want to keep you, I know you’re very busy. I can wait until our next four hour appointment.”

“No.” Regina says firmly.  “I want to do this outside of any appointments.  And yes, I have the time.”

“Alright,” Robin says, “‘Til then.”

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Regina asks.  “We have no future. I can’t even be a _friend_ to you down the road.”

“I can handle it,” he murmurs in a way she isn’t quite sure she believes.  “Besides, it’s ten months away. Anything could happen by then.”

Her eyes widen, and she’s quick to correct him.

“No, you can’t just hope something will magically happen and I won’t have to leave!  You have to, I don’t know, make peace with it. I’m telling you there’s no future.”

“I know,” Robin says soothingly.  “Doesn’t mean I’m going to stop hoping for Leo to get caught for tax evasion.  Or suffer a massive heart attack.”

She laughs a bit at that, because god, at least she’s not the only one wishing death upon another.  She never would have suspected it of Robin. But he looks so earnest now, as playful as he’s made his revelation. He somehow makes a death wish seem innocent and sweet.

How in the hell does he manage that?

“Trust me, I am hoping for the same,” she admits.  

“You're going to be late,” Robin says, his voice sounds just a bit off as he sighs and checks his watch.  “You should go. I’ll see you soon.”

It’s a bit awkward, hugging him in the car like this, but she pulls him as close as she can.  He buries his head in her neck, planting a sweet kiss there.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he offers.

“It’s just across the parking lot,” Regina points in the general direction of her car, somewhere behind them in the darkness. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not quite ready to say goodbye,” Robin admits.  He shuts off the engine (she then realizes how odd it is that they didn’t actually _drive_ anywhere) and opens the car door.  He shoots her a cute little wink and says, “Come on, let me be chivalrous for a moment.”

She lets him open her car door, leans into his touch when he throws a hand around her as they walk.  And when she reaches her car, she lets herself kiss him goodbye.

He doesn’t even seem surprised when she leans up to meet his lips, he just kisses her back sweetly, wrapping his arms around her.

It’s not the excited, hot kisses they traded earlier in the night.  It's a bit somber, the slow measured way they kiss one another. Maybe there’s a reverence to it, but it feels different.  As if they are saying goodbye ten months too soon. But it’s comforting, grounding, solidifies the fact that they still have a connection.  Things grow a bit more emotional, a bit more heated as she walks him back and leans against the side of her car door, kissing him a bit more desperately, and he catches on, deepens it, as they both attempt to replace the sadness of the night with something a bit more… pleasant.

They may be doomed from the start, but things are good right now.  Pretty damn good.

She has to end it, because Henry will be waiting for her and she can’t leave him at another child’s home waiting, potentially wearing out his welcome.  

So she breaks the kiss, puts a hand on his chest and strokes there shyly, catching her breath but not having the heart to say goodbye.

“Text me when you get home,” Robin requests, “just so I know you got there alright.”

She always gets a bit choked up at his concern, and this time is no different.  But Henry is waiting, so she tries not to dwell on warm thoughts and tender feelings and forces herself to start her car and finish her day.  Alone.

.::.

He wishes Regina were killing Leo instead.

He wishes she had just confessed to hiring a hitman, things would be so much easier if that was all it was.

It’s a horrible thought, but Leopold Blanchard is a horrible man, and the world wouldn’t miss him.

The world will miss Regina Mills.

 _He_ will miss her.

It’s going to be sweet torture knowing she just won’t exist one morning.  That she will be reborn as someone new in a new town where he can never follow her, can never visit.

It just can’t just end like that.  It’s not fair. He’s already lost the woman he thought was the love of his life, he’s already had to rebuild himself up from _that,_ already decided he wasn’t going to let his heart get broken again.  And everyone pushed him to do it, including Marian. They told him he should open his heart again, and look, he’s done as they asked.  And how is fate so cruel as to let him fall in love with another wonderful woman who will leave him forever?

It’s not fair.

He curses loudly in his car, where no one can hear him, screams, and pounds on the steering wheel, just for a moment, just to get out his frustration at how damn awful the world is.

He never did anything to deserve _this._

He’s mad at John, Mulan, Will, hell, he’s even mad at Marian — because all of them pushed him to do this, to fall in love again.  He is mad at fate and whatever higher power there is, but he is not mad at Regina.

She’s in an impossible situation, after all.  He can’t imagine what her life has been like, being trapped in this city with a monster who sends attack dogs on her whenever he feels like it.  

She wouldn’t be leaving if she didn’t _have_ to leave.

He knows her, he knows how much she cares about him, about his friends.  She’s been on his side in every situation. He trusts her completely, and that’s why he’s able to trust her in this.

She didn’t mean to do this, neither of them did.

His anger dissipates when he thinks of her, because it’s no one’s fault, truly.  And he loves her. And he _loves_ loving her.  He wouldn’t take this feeling back for all the pain in the world.  

Everything he’s felt since he’s met her is so infinitely better than feeling nothing at all.  Even the pain will feel better than the empty numbness of before.

And he can’t tell her this tonight, but when they have more time, he will explain that there is no way on Earth he could willingly walk away from her.

For now, Robin decides, he isn’t going to think of the end.

He will just think of the present, of the months he has with her, and he will privately let himself hope that their story won’t end in less than a year.  

And he won’t tell her, because she’d never allow it, but he will secretly cling to a hope that they are one another’s true second chance, that she’s not going to leave him, that they will figure out another way around this.  

For now, he’s allowing himself to hope and dream.

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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